


Shake the Cage

by WeAreVillaneve



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, First Chapter in Second Voice, Fluff and Smut, Not Canon Compliant, Soft Villanelle | Oksana Astankova, We'll See About the Others, angry eve polastri, enemies or lovers?, grief and rage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:21:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24157285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeAreVillaneve/pseuds/WeAreVillaneve
Summary: It turns out Villanelle doesn't always check to be certain targets are dead and Eve Polastri is not that easy to kill.Butsomethingin her died in the ruins outside of Rome.   Villanelle has vanished leaving Eve to pick up the broken pieces of a sad and shambling wreck of an existence.  She doesn't actually live as much as she simulates life.  There is no potential joy, only lingering pain.  There is no bright future, merely dreary existence.Eve is...incomplete.Until one day on the bus, everything resets and reboots Eve.  She lives again, yet anything that was dead being rudely jolted back to life can't return without being changed by the experience.Not necessarily for the better.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 57
Kudos: 117





	1. A Familiar Stranger in a Grey Suit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months is half of a year and for Eve Polastri, she's ready to get through it as quickly and quietly as possible. 
> 
> Her estranged husband can't stand the sight of her. Her former employers dumped her yesterday's garbage. She has no friends. They have either stopped calling or stopped breathing. She has no home, only a dump of a flat. She works a low-wage, no-thinking necessary job and she's fine with it as long as it pays the rent, microwavable meals and cheap red wine. 
> 
> Then there's the not-insignificant fact of having barely survived a shot in the back by a devilishly, dramatic female assassin who interests and excites you to no end, but nearly put an end to you. 
> 
> Life has been... _loud_. Eve could use a little peace and quiet.
> 
> What Eve could _use_ is one thing and what she _wants_ is something else.

**([authorized and compensated illustration by Evanezco](https://www.instagram.com/evanezco/)**)

_Niko._

You are not happy. Truth be told, even at the best of times you are not exactly known for being an overflowing barrel of mirth and merriment. But _today?_ Today, you are as far away from happy as it gets. 

You can't recall the last time you were happy. The last time you felt true, unbridled, unfiltered, pure-fucking-JOY seems like light years ago. But you decide you don't much care. You chased an illusion and you were _this close_ to getting everything you wanted. Or getting everything you thought you wanted. 

What difference does it make? Your life is utterly trash and in the cold sober moments between emptying wine bottles as you try to sleep on your small lumpy mattress and dirty sheets, you know there's nobody to really blame for your sorry state besides yourself. 

_Ugh._

Don't think about that, Eve. Focus on something else. Focus on this: Niko is _gone_ . Checked himself out of the mental hospital and boogied on back to Poland. To get away. To get away from _you._ The lust-crazed, sexually obsessed Eve Polastri. The crazy-ass wife of Nikolas Polastri. All he's left you is your last name.

You're not sure you even want a last name. Your ex-girlfriend seems to get along just fine without one. Maybe you should flip a coin. Heads, you chase the mustache. Tails, you chase the tail. 

That's not a bad idea, actually. You could totally use a mission, a purpose, a vision, a quest or some shit like that. 

Tomorrow is soon enough. Maybe next week. Maybe any day of the week which does not end in "day." You think that's clever, but you don't giggle because you're an adult (and it really wasn't all that funny in the first place). 

You gaze out the greasy, smudged window to distract yourself from sending yet another text message to the husband you treated like shit. You want another chance. Another chance to--do _what_ , exactly? 

Further emasculate your estranged husband? Give him even more reason to despise you? 

You took Niko’s pride and stripped him of his manliness as well when you slapped and pushed him before you had to leave for your “work thing” chasing an assassin to Russia. She showed up and took the remnants of Niko’s peace of mind away. She had come along to clean up what you had left behind.  
  
If **She** came back to finish what **She** had started, you might try to work up the energy to stop her, but maybe-- _just maybe_ \--you would show up a minute or so behind of Her instead of ahead of Her. At this moment in time, you are at peace with the possibility a certain asshole of an assassin might return to finish what they had started.  
  
You mentally kick yourself for thinking of Her. You try not to, but you can’t help yourself because **She** was so beautiful and sexy and you long for her because are so horny you could _scream_. 

These days what passes as sex is a sorry little spectacle where you angrily thrust your fingers inside yourself and vigorously and viciously maul your clitoris hoping to feel _something_. Something like that last night in Rome when She talked you into the best orgasm you had in years as you rode and bucked on Hugo The Human Dildo. 

You imagine what She could do to you all by herself. With her long fingers and her cruel mouth. You bet she could do all sorts of things to you with just one touch. You've certainly dry-rubbed yourself into a fitful sleep more than once visualizing it.  
  
A moan almost escapes from your throat into the heavens, but you seize it and suppress it. You still retain enough self-respect not to come in public places. 

Maybe you should try getting away from yourself and you would, if you had a clue where you could hide from yourself. You don't recognize Eve anymore. There was a time you thought you knew yourself inside and out. How many light years ago was that, you laugh inwardly. You turn your head to see if you are mistaken. Nobody's looking at you. Good. That means you didn't laugh outwardly so then people might wonder if you had earbuds in or you were just stone cold crazy. 

You scoff. Crazy people talk to themselves. You don't do that. You blew up a perfectly good marriage to chase after a murderous psychopath young enough to be your damn daughter. 

_This is outta control, Eve_. You remember when Kenny--sweet, boyish, hopelessly naive Kenny--told you. Warned you. Tried to protect you from yourself. If you had been thinking about his wise words instead of Her, he might still be alive. For reasons you don't quite understand, he liked and respected you even when you gave him no reason to. You tell yourself you could have talked sense to him. Told him to forget about assassins and international conspiracies and bank accounts and large amounts of money moving around. 

Oh well, you didn't step in and now he's dead. You want to turn the page and go back to wallow in your own misery and you hope Carolyn Martens--that evil cunt--is wallowing in her own pit. 

You look down at your cheap phone and jab at it to wake it back to life. There are no new texts or voicemails. 

_Fucking Niko._

You quit a perfectly adequate job making dumplings (pretty slowly, but you knew you would eventually get the hang of it), to go back where you said you never would again. Back to Carolyn. Carolyn Fucking Martens, and her wit, bon mots and coldblooded capacity to sell anyone out at any time, for any reason. She came to the restaurant and showed you pictures. Pictures you instantly recognized as Her handiwork. A bit... _off_...in certain ways, but still Her. It was a mean and messy kill and that meanness and messiness bothers you for some reason. 

She was always flamboyant and her kills reflected her grandiosity. This kill looked clumsy as if Her heart wasn’t really into it. This looked like someone who was on their first or second murder. Not a consummate pro whose body count was in the high double figures. 

_Fucking Carolyn._

You _hate_ Carolyn Martens. Despite the strings she pulled to get Niko out of jail after he had been accused of murdering his annoying bimbo with the big tits, you know Carolyn only did it to cover her own ass. As soon as you came out of your drug-induced stupor in a Rome hospital, you had a sense something was badly wrong, but a good week had passed from between the time your amorous assassin had confronted Niko and left him locked away with Big Tits' decaying corpse. 

You can't recall her name and the truth is, you don't care that you don't. You drink to forget, not to remember. It's not as though _you_ killed her. She did that in what she probably thought was some sort of perverse favor she was doing for you. If you were a nice lady you’d feel sorry for Big Tits, but it’s her own fault. If she had only kept away from your husband Big Tits might be alive now. And still annoying as hell. 

Remembering makes your head throb and so does the still-healing wound in your shoulders. So you stop. Focus on how annoyed Niko is blaming you for the death of Big Tits. That's hardly fair, you tell yourself. 

You want to scream in his stupid mustached face, " _Hey man, real sorry about how your bobble-head girlfriend with the big tits got taken out like the trash she was by my psycho girlfriend. But I'm your wife, and you walked out on me, and I still got shot, so cry me a fucking river, why don't you_? "

Niko isn't the victim here. You are. Okay, he's sort of an injured party, but besides a bump on the head, did he _really_ have a good reason to be mad at Her? After all, _you're_ the one who got shot in the back.

_"Don't tell me your fucking problems._.." you snarl under your breath. The other passenger who is sitting diagonally from you is beginning to gauge when would be the optimum time to nonchalantly sashay from this part of the bus and away from your seriously disturbed (and disturbing) ass. 

You just want to go home and drown yourself in a bottle of wine. You're tired. You're depressed. You're hungry and getting hornier. You're in an excellent mood to take a razor blade to your throat and go out the way the same way Aaron Peel did. That repulsive little prick.

It comes as some small shock to you that this is the first time you have thought of watching Her cut a man's throat open. You weren't even grossed out. What was it you felt? Satisfaction? A little jealous you didn't get to do the deed yourself with your lethal letter opener? 

You push that memory down and aside. It's not good to relive things like that. Normal people certainly don't. Then again, She considers normal people boring as hell. You don't disagree. Normal people are the worst. 

How much of a dick move it was by Carolyn to come to your job to try and coax you back into her orbit. Back into the same lies and deceit and manipulation and betrayal you've transferred to poor, long-suffering Niko.   
  


He did nothing to deserve this. Nothing but be the nicest husband you could ever hope for. His only crime was he was boring. Boring both in and out of bed. Yet you played your part and gasped and screamed and moaned and groaned and called his name until even Niko figured out you might be exaggerating about how much of a stud he was and how you were getting off as he pawed, fondled, and groped you with his hairy body and unskilled hands.

Sex had never been particularly exciting to you. To be sure, riding and polishing Niko's knob did nothing for you. It was your second job and you did it dutifully and automatically with as much enthusiasm as cleaning the oven. 

You had security. What more did you need out of life? _Pleasure? Bitch, please_. 

Tomorrow, you'll make up a brand new life lie just to get you through another day. You will rationalize that this is just how it's supposed to be and when you do so, it will guarantee that every day will indeed, feel _exactly_ the same as today.

The bus bounces and rattles as the driver tries to navigate around some of the larger potholes on this pock-marked street, but do you feel it, Eve? Probably not. You don't feel much of anything anymore.

You settle back in your seat on the bus. You send Jaime a short message about how you were trying to find your runaway hubby had run off to. Jaime's one-word reply is " _Fine_ " and you know it isn’t fine at all, but you don't have the energy to give it any more thought. _Sorry, Kenny. I'm taking the night off._ You are going back to that disgusting pig sty you call a home. You chuckle at that word. Truth is, you left home to chase an assassin around Europe. 

You didn't do it for justice. You didn't do it for revenge after the assassin brutally and gleefully stabbed Bill to death while you looked on in horror---and a bit of excitement. You didn't do it because you were manipulated into going exactly where you wanted to be all along. 

You did it because you think about her. You think about her all the time. She is your last thought at night and your first thought in the morning. 

_"You don't look very happy."_

_"Who says I_ **_want_ ** _to be happy?"_

You remember that, Eve? It happened right before Kenny did a swan dive off the roof. You can practically still hear the CRUNCH when his body slammed into the ground.

_Kenny didn't scream,_ you mumble. You wonder if he was unconscious before he was thrown off the roof? You really hope he was and you send up a vague prayer to a deity you have no reason to believe in. You try to pivot back to the matter of your last friend’s death and shake the cobwebs from your weary and overwhelmed mind. You wonder if Kenny had any defensive wounds to his arms or hands? That would indicate he fought for his life and did not go quietly. 

You know Kenny left you _some_ sort of clue. There had to be _something_ he had left behind. Something only you would recognize and know precisely what it would mean.

Now you want to see the medical examiner's report. "Better write that down" you mutter loud enough for the passenger in the aisle over to shoot you an apprehensive glance. You are all out of fucks to give. You have paid no attention to the other passengers as the bus creeps through London traffic. 

Your throat is dry and you have never wanted a glass of cheap red wine more desperately in your life. You wonder if you haven't guzzled away the last bottle Your diet consists of ramen noodles, microwavable meals and lots of alcohol. 

When did everything become so damned irrelevant? When did YOU become so damned irrelevant. 

"I need toilet paper and toothpaste," you almost say out loud but don't. You wonder if you have enough money until payday for toilet paper and toothpaste and an extra bottle of wine JUST IN CASE and if you don't, well that's tough about the toothpaste. 

Choices. It's all about choices. Jamie likes to say shit like that thinking he's being deep when you can see right through the b.s. to what he wants from you. Jaime wants you to choose to let him get in your pants. You're almost tempted to. Nobody's got within sniffing range of your little dusty love box since you let your 26-year-old obsession talk you into turning your 26-year-old colleague into a human dildo.

There you go again. Thinking about old stuff. Ancient history. Done. Over. You are totally over Her. But you don't believe any of that crap and you have certainly believed a lot of crap. You are messed up when you can't even win an argument with yourself. You fish into the bowels of your bag and find an old peppermint and remind yourself to unwrap it before you pop it in your mouth. 

The bus lurches to a stop, but you pay no heed. You haven't reached your stop yet so you text Niko again. You are tapping aimlessly away trying to order the words correctly in your disordered mind. You tap away and shut out the noise. 

**\--------------------** ****

****

****

**UNTIL.**

**YOU.**

**LOOK UP.**

**AND YOU SEE.**

**HER.**

_[****](https://www.instagram.com/dkdraws/)_[**(authorized and compensated art by dkdraws)**](https://www.instagram.com/dkdraws/)  
  
  
This is no illusion. No fantasy. This is _real_. 

You see Her.

Or perhaps more accurately, You _feel_ Her. Her presence. What is she wearing? A grey suit and matching slacks. All she needs is a nice silk tie. Maybe a little big on her, but your mind confirms what you see... 

**Villanelle.**

She is walking down the aisle in a slightly too large grey suit that would look ridiculous on anybody else, but fuck if She doesn't make it work. _Whatever_ she wears, it works on her.  
  
You wonder if you are dreaming. You almost hope you are, because if you aren’t, then this is a daytime nightmare. 

Here She comes. Your beginning and your end. The other natural force that gives you life more than air. Your goddess. A sapphic succubus who you cannot resist.

And don’t much want to either. 

She smiles. You stare stupidly at her brilliant white teeth and lock onto her green eyes. Her smile only widens. 

You expect her to say “ _Sorry, baby?_ ” But that's not what she says. Not even close.

**_“Hi, Eve.”_ **

_What the hell?_

_Hi, Eve?_ That’s it? That’s **ALL?** After she shot you in the back because you didn’t want to go to fucking Alaska to eat her fucking spaghetti? 

“ _Hi, Eve?”_ That’s all you get? As if she didn’t fuck up your already shaky marriage by killing your husband’s annoying-ass girlfriend and locking him in a storage locker with her rotting corpse for probably days? 

_“Hi, Eve?_ ” As if she hadn’t stabbed your best friend, and made you doubt your senses and certainly your sexual orientation? 

_“Hi, Eve?”_ as if you hadn’t spent six miserable months laid up in a hospital with a bedpan under your butt and you’re out of medicine and still in pain? 

##  **_“HI, EVE?” BITCH, I CANNOT WITH YOU! NOT TODAY!_**

You lose it. Not that you had much left anyway, but this is GO time! You leap at her. Screeching and yelling. Use your words, Eve! But you don’t _have_ any words. You have gone completely feral. Everything you see is blurred through a red filter of pure FURY.

You pop your claws and you go into a Wolverine Lite berserk rage! _Dark Eve Has Risen and Villanelle is going to catch these hands!_

There is a problem with this. 

You immediately see the flaws in this approach, and the first is you don’t have six steak knives popping out of your knuckles to gut someone. The second is a bit more grounded in reality: **_you can’t fight_** _,_ Eve and truth is; you fucking _suck_ at fighting. 

_Doesn’t MI5 offer any self-defense courses_????

Villanelle tries to calm your wild ass down, but you are in a tunnel and you can't hear Her. You can’t hear _anything_. You can’t even see her. Too much blood. Too much blood in your eyes and ears. You are swinging wildly and you can't stop yourself. 

You don't much want to either. 

**"I'm not here for you** " you _think_ she says. At this particular moment in time, you don't hear Her and could care less than one fuck. 

You grunt, jabber and make animal noises. You pummel and slap and get a totally lucky punch in. Villanelle grabs her nose, but her expression is more of impatience than anger. You have all that to drive you, but you’re not scaring her. You sure aren’t hurting her. Before you can harm yourself Villanelle grabs a hold of you and pushes you down, yanks you up and walks you backwards _with such a contemptuous smile_ and shoves you around like an unruly child. 

With ease, she puts you in a seat, then pins you down. You are nose to nose with the person you hate _and_ love most in the world. No more fighting. No escape. 

She says three words to you. Just three little words. Three words no one has ever said before to you and will likely never say again.

##  **“Smell me, Eve.”**

It is not a request, but it’s not a command either. It is an _invitation_.

You breathe in. She shares her scent with you. It’s like nothing you’ve ever smelled before. It’s incredible. It’s intoxicating. It’s filling your nostrils and then your mind. Your eyes are wide open. 

You **ARE** wide-awake. 

It’s heaven. It’s hell. It’s Villanelle.

_What do I smell of to you?_ ” she asks. Heat. Passion. Desire. Lust. Pleasure Beyond Imagination. Burning buildings and falling stars. Life. Death. Sex. Murder. Food. Art, and everything else in the whole wide fucking world. 

You topple and you fall. But not down. You fall _up_. Up into Her lips. 

And you drown. Drown in the feel and taste of her smooth, yet cruel lips. And Her Smell. No wine could intoxicate you more. You are going to fall in love with her and fuck her right on the dirty floor of this bus right in front of all these stupid , gawking idiots. Right about now, that sounds like your wettest of wet dreams come true. If they think you're giving them a show now, don't blink because it's about to get a WHOLE LOT BETTER. 

You are exactly where you want to be. Precisely where you were trying to get to all along. Exactly at this time and this moment, in this space. You have waited so goddamned long and denied yourself joy and happiness. You are incapable of reason. All you have is a furious rage that wants to shake free of the cage and devour Villanelle body, mind and soul. 

If she told you you would kill every single one of these gawking assholes, snap their heads from their necks, strip Her naked first and you next and drink long and deep as you bathe in blood. A baptism of blood. 

Then a blinding flash of white light wakes you up and nearly knocks you unconscious. Your flight-or-fight instinct has overruled your horny lust, so you leave aside your carnal craving aside and instead headbutt Villanelle. The hard **CRACK!** of your skull smashing into her snaps you back to reality. 

She scrambles to her feet and off the bus and you fall in an undignified heap on the floor. You command your legs how to work again and wobble like a drunk, you haul yourself upright as you hold on to a vacated seat for support.Your head is throbbing as you wipe away a trickle of blood from your nose. 

You ignore the stunned gawkers. Nobody approaches you or offers to help. Looking left and right you see her. She is standing on the sidewalk with her hands shoved in her pockets and as she grows smaller as you move farther away, your last sight of her is a slight smile that becomes a wide grin. Standing there on the sidewalk she looks as though she was _this close_ to losing it and screaming out in pure orgasmic passion. 

The bitch.  
  


[**(authorized and compensated art by zephyrzion** )](https://twitter.com/zephyrzion)

\--------------------

  
  
No one approaches you. Not even the bus driver, whose only words to you are, “Ey, miss? Next time you and your girlie wanna have a tiff, do it somewhere else, eh?”

You want to tell him to perform an anatomically impossible act upon himself, but you don’t. You might need to ride on this bus again, so don’t cut your bleeding nose to spite your bruised face. 

That's where you leave it. The beginning of a black eye, a throbbing headache and your underwear totally ruined. Your world shaken to ruins by Hurricane Villanelle blowing away your flimsy facade of what laughingly passes for "normal" life. 

_You_ will have to wait until you get home and the first load in the wash, but as soon as it IS. You are gonna treat yourself to the best dry-rub of your life. 

Your phone rings. You hesitate...you don't want to cast your eyes downward...you don't want to look... **YOU DO NOT**.

But you do of course, because you have no self-control. None. Nada. Zip. Zero.

Was there ever any doubt you wouldn't? You almost hope it’s from Nick..Nicky... _Niko!_ His name is/was Niko! How you could have blanked his name from your memory you are not certain of, but there’s a vein pulsing miserably in your head. This is your brain reminding you of the slight concussion you may have. 

There is a message. From Her. It is direct, succinct, and without a trace of ambivalence and for her, an unusual lack of sarcasm.

**_Dearest Eve,_ **

**_There will be a driver in front of your revolting, hideous hovel within the next ten minutes. She will park the car and navigate her way past the heroin needles and overflowing trash receptacles of your "home." She will knock on your door like this: Two short. Three long. Two short. Four long. Exactly in that order. At that time, you will have precisely five minutes to either leave your squalid little shithole or before she will leave, and you will never see me again._ **

**_This is not a threat, my dearest Eve. That is a sad fact of life._ **

**_Choose._ **

**_Sorry, baby XXX_ **

You stare at your phone. Your fingers twitch. You want to tell her to go fuck herself. You want to stab her again, but this time twist the knife a few times to just to see the surprise look in her eyes.  
  
You are hungry. In part for food, because you honestly can’t recall the last time you had a honest-to-goodness meal. But it's not simply an empty stomach. There's an emptiness within you. It was there before Rome and it hasn't gone away. You shrug your weary shoulders. It's not as though there's any debate. You might as well go. It's not as if you have nothing better to do.   
  
You catch a whiff of something offensive. _What in the entire fuck is that stink? Is there a dead mouse in the wall? I’m going to have to call the superintendent._ You grimace because you know what you are smelling isn’t a rat. It’s you and your rat’s nest of hair and soap and water challenged body. You mentally berate yourself for being a lying ass bitch when you know all along it is your own foul ass that you're gagging on.

You search your messy memory for a reminder of when you last applied soap and water to your pits today. Did you brush your teeth? Or wash your hair? Shemay be in love with your amazing hair, but at the moment it feels greasy, itchy and more grimy than glamorous. 

This is when you realize that clean underwear or not, you need to wash your ass and all parts between. You can't go to see her smelling like a pig farm. You raise your weary and dog-tired body to drag it into your small excuse for a shower, your phone blazes back to life. 

**_Do NOT take a shower before the driver arrives. Do NOT bring anything of your grotesquely, hideous clothes with you. Come as you are._ **

**_I'll take care of the rest._ **

**_V._ **

You try to hate her for her audacity, but you can't bring yourself to. She knows you. Probably better than you know yourself.

You sit down and fold your hands in your lap and you wait. 

For the only person in the world who makes you feel something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no intention of writing another Killing Eve story before I completed the sequel to _The First Taste of Sin_ and I wouldn't have had it not been the encouragement I received from **V-For-Villanelle** to try something short, if not necessarily sweet. 
> 
> V-For-Villanelle also gave me the idea to tell the tale in the second-person narrative which is REALLY DAMN HARD TO DO, but she threw down the gauntlet. 
> 
> Let's see how long I can carry it and credibly do so. Welcome to a writing experiment. Hope it works.


	2. Embrace and Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patience is not Villanelle's stock and trade, but all good things come to those who wait. Eve Polastri is not necessarily good, but she's good enough for Villanelle. 
> 
> Or she will be once she has been sufficiently prepared.

**([ authorized illustration by Polastrikova ](https://twitter.com/Polastrikova) ) **

**  
**

I wait. I do not enjoy waiting. I do not enjoy it because I am bad at it. I am good at what I do, but waiting to do so makes me restless. 

I was like this long before I first laid eyes on Eve. Now I am left waiting for something I can not hurry along. What I do now is because there is something I must know and only one person in the world has the answer.

_Why did you kiss me, Eve?_

The phone has not rung and no text messages have come through. At least, not since the last time I checked it ten minutes ago. Gazing out the window of my suite, I see it is still raining. Naturally. This being London, the weather is shit and traffic is creeping along, so the driver is running behind and Eve is not yet here.

Which only makes the restlessness worse. There is a certain rustic charm to the Buckingham Suite of The Lanesborough Hotel. These are lush and lavish accommodations, as I deserve no less, but tonight those charms elude me as I stare out into the night waiting for my answer. 

The bell prompt of a message sliding into the Inbox diverts me. With a frown I glare at the screen. _Five minutes away._

I smile and rise. Briskly, I stride to the bathroom. I lean down and twist the hot water handle. The tub begins to fill. I open the mirrored cabinet and I extract a lavender bath bomb. It drops into the water with a soft _plunk!_ Eve needs this. A little pampering and a lot of aromatherapy. 

I hear Konstantin’s gravely voice muttering in my head. It’s on a loop that repeats the same words over and over and over.

**_You’re a mess. Eve Polastri is making you weak. You need to kill her._ **

I wish Konstantin was wrong and I wish he would shut up. But I know he wasn’t wrong and he won’t shut up. At least he was looking out for my best interests---and his own, of course. 

I am waging an internal war between my few angels and many demons. The angels are whispering, _“Slow down. Take it easy. Don’t be tense. She’ll be here soon. Then you can decide calmly and rationally_.”

The demons don’t whisper. They shout. **“KILL HER! AS SOON AS SHE WALKS IN THE DOOR, SNAP HER NECK, SLIT HER THROAT, GOUGE OUT HER EYES, SHOOT HER IN THE HEAD. MAKE HER SUFFER AND MAKE HER DIE.”**

  
“Shut up,” I snarl and the angels and demons shut up. For a while at least, but they’ll be back. They always come back. 

  
I glance again at my phone. It’s 11:14 pm. Eve will be here soon. I tap out a notification to the cleaning crew I hired. They have been instructed to enter Eve’s sad joke of an apartment and wash, sweep, mop, disinfect and otherwise decontaminate the hovel. I shake my head sadly. 

Eve is on a downward spiral, but I am the one who pushed her to it. 

I regret it. This is an unfamiliar and discomforting sensation and I don’t like it. Before Eve, I had no familiarity with the word. Regret? What is that? I am amazing. **_I am Villanelle_ ** **.** One of the most lethal assassins in the world, and certainly the best assassin in the employ of The Twelve. My work is bloody, but it is the key which has allowed me entrance into a world of glamour and style and all the refinements I deserve.

  
It is not enough. Not anymore. It never really was, but before I gave no thought to it. I thought it was making me happy, but now I know it was merely how The Twelve pacified me. How they kept me in line. How they kept me focusing on expensive toys and glittery trinkets instead of what really matters.

Longing. Loving. Seeking and not finding. Not until I met Eve. 

It feels empty. Most days I feel nothing at all. For six long months I didn't kill. After Rome I had no stomach for it. Not only did I leave Eve behind in the ruins, I left something else with her. Something cold and vicious, but something I required to be as good as I was in taking lives. Dasha doesn’t know this, and I must not show her that I have changed. 

  
_I want Eve_. I want her more than I want my next breath. I am incomplete and I cannot be whole. Not without her. I have transgressed, but so has she. Without awareness I touch the thin white scar on my flat stomach. Eve’s mark. She has scarred me, marked me and though outwardly I am healed, Eve has left her signature on my body as I have on her. 

“I cannot wait to see it,” I whisper in the empty room. 

  
  


However, I have learned a bitter lesson. Eve cannot be owned. Eve will not be possessed. She will not accept lies or manipulation. This must be entirely Eve’s choice. **She** must choose **me**. This has to be a decision Eve makes of her own free will. Of this, I am certain. Eve _will_ give me everything I want as she promised in her kitchen while I held a knife between her heaving breasts. 

I want her to let her defenses down one more time and this time--- **THIS TIME FOR CERTAIN** \---I will convince Eve _there is no one_ who understands her more, no one who loves her more, and no one who will abandon her as the full eclipse which is obscuring the last flickering remnants of light within consumes it totally. I am her guide through the lightlessness. I entered it confused and afraid. I exited confident and brave.

  
  
Eve stood in front of me and she said “I’m like you now. I’m not afraid of anything.” I could see in her beautiful eyes she was not deceptive. She was strong and she was confident and I stepped back when she stepped forward. Eve made me take a backwards step. _Me_. Villanelle.

That is the moment I knew she was truly the same as I. Even after she killed for me and right before my accursed rage overcame my reason. 

I will take her by the hand and lead her on into becoming the magnificent agent of chaos and death I know she has within her, Eve will fall into my arms, whisper words of gratitude and then…my embrace. Her surrender. 

**“You love me.”**

_Yes._

**“I love you. I do.”**

_Yes. I see it now and I love you too._

“You’re mine.” 

_Yes. I am yours. Only yours._

( **compensated artwork by[horreurscopes](https://horreurscopes.tumblr.com/))**

It will be so much more fun than eating spaghetti in Alaska. 

Why should I fear them? They should fear me, and with Eve by her side I will be able to take on and take down everyone who has ever betrayed me. Konstantin. Dasha. Carolyn. The entire Twelve. With Eve by my side we will destroy them **ALL**. It will be brutal. It will be violent. It will be bloody. 

It will be _glorious_. 

The doorbell to my suite rings. Once. A pause. A second ring. Then, a knock. . 

_Eve has never seen me with my hair down._ _How odd I had never noticed that before Tonight, she will. Tonight she will see me fully and totally._

 _  
_  
I run my tongue over my moist, red lips. It has not been so long since I last dined, but for reasons I don’t fully understand my stomach feels unsatiated and empty. 

I am... **hungry.**

  
  


\---------------------

  
  


Robotically, Eve Polastri shuffles off of the elevator. She caught the disgusted look from the couple that had gotten off the floor below her. The Lanesborough was only four floors, but what it lacked in height it made up in splendor. Eve barely noticed the ornate crystal chandeliers, the Neoclassical features of the lobby and hallways. She did notice the sweet smell of freshly cut flowers as it mingled and clashed with her own foul odor. 

Eve came to a weary stop in front of Villanelle’s room, the Buckingham Suite. Nothing but the best for Oksana, she mused. She pressed on the room’s doorbell. Waited a few beats. Pressed again. Nothing. Eve raised her arm and rapped lightly on the door. She was about to knock again, before it swung open. 

I stand before her. Even on her worst day I know she will examine me from head to toe and assess every detail. She will calculate, she will process, she will evaluate. Just as I will. 

The first thing Eve noticed through her bleary, bloodshot eyes was how my lush golden hair was down and falling to just below my toned shoulders. She has also observed an angry red swelling over my eyebrow. It matched the dark bruise over her own. 

I take it all in within seconds. Though Eve looks exhausted and defeated, her powers of observation remain peerless. My mind unspools to the memory of her on the other side of the door in The Twelve’s safehouse and I resist the urge to audibly sigh and show my arousal. 

It is too soon. I yearn to take her in my arms and press my lips against hers but not yet. I cannot rush Eve. She must believe she is in control of this moment, though clearly she is not. 

“Hello, Eve. Please come in.”

“Villanelle,” she replies in a sullen monotone. She walks in and that is when I note as bad as Eve looks, she smells worse. 

Flopping into a chair with all her weight, she stares down at the carpet and says nothing. I wonder if I should make a joke. Try to lighten her gloomy depression a bit. Try to relight her spark. 

“Nice place,” she mutters. “Got anything to drink?” I was waiting for this. After visiting her apartment and the graveyard of empty bottles of cheap wine, I am well aware Eve is trying to drown her sorrows---and failing.

“What would you like, Eve?” I reply as gently as I can. 

Eve doesn’t look up, “Wine. Gin. I don’t give a shit. Whatever you have.”

I stand up and walk to the bar. I drop a few ice cubes in a glass and pour artisan water in it. I tighten the belt of my blue satin robe as Eve begins to pull off her drab green parka. She doesn’t look up as I extend the glass to her. 

Is she deliberately refusing to look at me? 

She raises the glass and tips it up to her lips. I see her dark, greasy locks fall away from her face. Eve makes a disgusted expression before she growls, “What the fuck is this? This is water! Gimme some gin or vodka.”

  
  
“No.” 

“No?” she parrots. “What do you mean ‘no’? You drag me out of my bed at damn near midnight and you aren’t going to give me anything to drink but fucking water?” 

I square my shoulders and speak in a cold monotone. “I want you to take a bath, Eve. After that I will get you anything you want to drink. But not before”.

Eve wobbles upright. “Who the hell do you think you are to make demands on me?” After what you did to me?. Are you crazier than I know you already are?”  
  


This is exactly what I expected from Eve. She is angry at me. She probably hates me and it is not as though I have not given her ample reasons to. She has certainly given me reasons to hate her.

  
  
But I refuse to take the bait. 

“Take a bath, Eve. You smell. You smell _bad_.” 

Eve takes a step to me and then another one. I don’t know what she is going to do or say next. 

This excites me, but I don’t show it. I do not dare. Even in her dulled, disheveled state, she would notice. Eve doesn’t miss much, and this is something I have learned through bitter experience. I notice she switches the glass to her left hand as she slowly advances. 

Eve’s right hand flashes up to my face to slap me, but she puts too much into the sudden movement and she stumbles. I easily catch her wrist and yank it above her head. 

**"FUCK! THAT HURTS!!! LET ME GO, DAMN YOU!!"** Flailing with her left, Eve tries to hit me with the glass and her rage makes her quick.

I am quicker. I seize her other wrist and twist it. We have already danced this dance and I do not wish to repeat it. She shrieks as the glass drops to the floor and spills its contents but does not shatter. 

This is not what I want from Eve. We have already proven we are skilled at hurting one another. Despite her protests I force her back against a wall and grab her by her stained turtleneck. I pull her close. Almost as close as we were on the bus. 

“Stop this, Eve. I did not strike you when you attacked me earlier. I do not want to hurt you. I just want to talk to you. That’s all. Nothing else.”

She opens her mouth to scream, but I cover it and muffled curses and grunts is all she can muster. It breaks my heart to hear it. Eve’s furious look tears me to shreds, but I can’t give in to my own rage. I must manage it. I must control it. 

“Don’t scream. You’ll wake people up and they will be angry. Angrier than you are right now. If you want to go, I won’t stop you. You can leave. Right now. I’ll call an Uber for you. I swear it. I won’t try to make you do anything you do not want to do, Eve. Never again.”

She thrashes a bit, but the sanity reappears behind her dark eyes and I grab for it. 

“Please, Eve. You don’t owe me anything and I don’t deserve anything from you. Just let me talk to you once more. _Please.”_

I release my hold and I back away. I raise my hands with the palms up and facing her and then I place my right hand over my heart. Eve instantly recognizes this gesture. It is the same one she made to me when I was chasing the car she was fleeing in with my target; her boss Frank. 

That was the moment everything changed. I could no longer view her only as an enemy and likely future target. Her hair was up then, but now it is down and while I should be repulsed by Eve as she is with me, I am not. I cannot. I can’t hate her. 

I love Eve Polastri. She told me I didn’t know what that was and she might well be right, but I am trying. I want her love, but first I must win her forgiveness. 

“Just trust me, Eve. I am sorry for what I’ve done to you. I am so sorry”

She stares in stark disbelief at me as an infuriated expression mars her stunning face. For a second I fear she is about to attack again, but I keep one hand over my rapidly beating heart and the other raised. If she goes for my throat or tries to gouge out my eyes or pull my tongue through my mouth, I won’t fight her. I can’t fight her. Not anymore. 

“You--you mean it?” Eve says in a shaky, but calmer voice. “You won’t hurt me? You swear?”

“Yes, Eve,” I respond and my head nods even as my hands do not move. “I swear I will not hurt you or harm you in any way.”

Then she sags to her knees as her anger and confusion gives way to sorrow. Eve begins to cry and her small frame trembles with her sobbing. She doubles over as if in physical pain, but I don’t try to take her in my arms and comfort her. Oh, I want to. I want to kiss away her pain, but I don’t. 

Eve extends her hand and I take hers into my own. She pulls herself closer as I drop to my knees and envelop her in my arms. We say nothing. The only sound in the room is of her crying and sniffling. 

I do not know how long it takes for her to empty her well of tears, but eventually she does and she does not pull away. This feels...nice. I like this and I want more of it, but sweet pleasure must be delayed for vital business. 

“Eve, let me help you. You need a bath. The water should still be hot. You’ll feel better, okay.”

Her head bobs up and down slightly, but this defeated wreck of a woman does not utter a word. I stand and gently, I coo into her ear, “Do you still want that vodka?”

She makes a dismissive wave and shakes her head again. “No. Not right now.” Then she does look up. “I’m pretty ripe, huh?”

“Yeah. You really are, _ребенок_." 

  
"Huh? What's that mean?"   
  
  
"It means 'baby.' That's what you are. A stinky baby."

She smiles and the mood lightens. “Where’s the bathroom?” We rise together and I slip my left arm around her right. 

“This way.”

I show Eve where all the toiletries are including toothpaste, toothbrush, mouthwash and a shaving kit if needed. “Just put all your clothes outside the door after you’ve undressed. I’ll take care of them for you.”

Eve nods and walks disinterestedly into the bathroom. Minutes tick by before I hear the sound of the flush followed by running water in the sink. A few more minutes pass before the door opens slightly and her clothes are dropped outside in a fetid heap. 

I wait patiently until I hear the sound of Eve’s sigh as she slips into the tub. I drop to a crouch outside the bathroom and I wait. Within seven minutes, Eve begins to snore as she slips into a light slumber. Then I pick up Eve’s shoes, parka, pants, turtleneck, bra, panties and socks. I remove any personal effects, coins, keys or anything else in the pockets of the slacks, then I drop them in a garbage bag. 

After tying the bag in a neat knot, I walk back into the bedroom and pick up the phone by the bed. “Room service, Ms. Polastrikova. This is Harry. How may I help you this evening?”

I speak in Russian-accented English and request a bottle of cabernet sauvignon, a bottle of top-shelf vodka, a bucket of ice, glasses and a vegetable tray with cheeses and crackers. I inform Henry I will need breakfast served at 8:00 am sharp and give him my order. 

“Very good, Ms. Polastrikova. Will there be anything else?”

“Yes. My guest spilled some water on the carpet and I have a bag of trash I need disposed of. Do you have a compactor?”

“Yes madam. We certainly do.”

“Excellent, Harry. Please have my order ready within 45 minutes.” 

He replies in the affirmative and I disconnect the call. I locate and press the remote that dims the lights throughout the suite with the exception of the bathroom and the front foyer. 

I rise from the bed and pull back the covers. I open a cabinet and withdraw a second silk robe. This one is a darker red than my own. It is a beautiful robe for an equally beautiful woman. 

A smile passes briefly over my face as I walk to the bathroom and rap lightly on the door. I hear a soft snuffle and then a slightly louder snoring. 

The smile returns and this time it is beaming as I announce, “Eve? I’m coming in. It’s time to wash your hair.”

Soundlessly, I enter and the door closes behind me with a soft click.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this took much longer than I had planned, but between getting it fast and getting it right, the latter is better than the former. A special shout-out to **V-for-Villanelle** for edits and advice. 
> 
> Next Chapter: Villanelle helps Eve wash her hair--and so much more.


	3. Bring Me Your Love (aka  An Hour in the Shower)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve takes a shower. Villanelle washes her hair. 
> 
> Other things...happen.

For a minute, Eve doesn’t know where she is. She barely knows _who_ she is.

Then the warmth of the water, the sweet aroma of the bath bomb, the way her muscles are no longer tense and her nerves on edge. It’s just gone. 

A good bath can do that, but this is a _great_ bath.

  
  
_I’m dying. I’m dead. I’m conceived. I’m reborn. I’m alive._

_For the first time in decades, I am alive. Truly alive and fully awake._

Eve is terrified. She hasn’t felt like this in months. It’s so much. It’s too much. 

But it’s not enough. There’s something still missing, but whatever it is she is too relaxed to wonder what it is, so she simply luxuriates in this deep, wide and amazing bathtub. 

The water is hot, but not too hot. The scent of jasmine wafts upward and she breathes it all in. Eve drifts away from the multiple miseries of her dreary life.

She doesn’t hear the soft rapping on the door. Doesn’t see the door opening and doesn’t notice that Villanelle has entered the room. 

Until she does--and then her eyes pop open as she splashes water out of the tub as her legs draw up in a protective reaction. Eve crosses her arms over her breasts and yelps, “Shit! I didn’t hear you come in.”

“You were starting to snore, so I thought it best to check on you before you nodded off and drowned,” Villanelle said with a typical cocky grin. Normally, that smart-ass smile annoyed Eve, but normal was a relative term these days and instead she found it a little endearing. 

Villanelle’s casual nudity, not so much. She didn’t have on a stitch of clothing. Then again, with a body like hers, strutting around showing herself off, wasn’t exactly hard on the eyes.

“What’s all that for?” Eve said nodding at the towels and a shampoo bottle Villanelle was carrying. Disdaining a response, the young Russian hummed and walked over to the free-standing shower where she placed the towels on a chair.

Eve tried not to stare at Villanelle’s toned legs and bare ass. Tried and failed. 

“I can’t figure if you’re making me the best or worse version of myself.”

“I’m not making you into anything, Eve,” she said humming again. “All I’m doing is holding up a mirror. It’s for you to decide if you like what you see in the reflection.”

_Darkness. That’s what I see. That’s all I see_. Eve pondered whether to respond, but said nothing fearing she had already revealed too much.  
  
  


Yawning, Eve stood up and reached for one of the towels, but Villanelle quickly snatched it away. A look of confusion morphed into slight irritation, as Eve blurted, “Hey! What are you…?”

“You’ve had your bath, darling Eve. Now it is time for your shower. I want to wash your hair and I have some specially made shampoo for that marvelous mane,” Villanelle said grinning broadly. 

“I don’t need help washing my own damn hair, Villanelle.” Eve replied. She tried to sound annoyed but only succeeded in making Villanelle’s smile turn into a frown.

“ _But Eeeeeeve._ **I** want to do it,” she whined and her pretty pout was so sweet, the last of Eve’s dwindling resistance melted away. She couldn’t resist giving Villanelle what she wanted.  
  
“Please, Eve. Let me do it.”

Because Eve wanted it too, but damned if she would give up the game that easily. She had some pride left.

“Okay, okay--whatever, just so you stop whining,” Eve gruffly responded. “But _just_ a shampoo. No funny business. I mean it, V!” 

“Scout’s honor,” the assassin giggled as she held two fingers up to her forehead.

“You were never a Girl Scout,” the ex-agent snorted. “And you’re doing that wrong.” Eve’s wet feet touched the cool bathroom floor and she did an involuntary tap dance. Which only delighted her childish comrade even more.

“Oh, like _you_ would know. Like you were a Girl Scout.”

“I was. For three years,” Eve said with a knowing smirk. “I can show you how to do it the right way.”

Villanelle pondered this news for a moment, and summarily dismissed it. “Interesting, but beside the point.” She jerked her left thumb in the direction of the shower. “You’re stalling. Get in there.”

Eve began to protest, but Villanelle’s stern _I’m- not- kidding- face_ suggests she reconsider, so instead she says nothing. Shrugging her shoulders in defeat, she sulked past the tall blonde on her way into the walk-in shower. 

Villanelle barely represses a smile. It would seem like gloating and she wants to allow Eve to maintain a semblance of control here. Clearly she is not, but now is not the time to give her an excuse to revert back to her typical belligerence whenever Eve perceives she is not in control. 

_Villanelle is, but she will show Eve, not tell her. Eve will thank her later_.

Eve shuffles into the shower with Villanelle trailing behind her. She is about to turn on the shower when Eve realizes she is not taking this shower alone and she whips around to protest.

Villanelle stares blankly for a moment as if Eve is suddenly speaking in an alien tongue, and then she twists the water on to hot, but not scalding and slides the shower door closed with a soft click!

“Did you not hear me before?” Villanelle replies in the most deadpan and monotone voice as she can muster. “I **_am_** going to wash your hair. I am your host and you are my guest, and that’s really all there is to it.” 

Eve assesses the situation and while emotionally exhausted, she’s not clinically brain dead. The steely resolve in the young assassin’s declaration can't be ignored. This is going to happen whether she wants it to or not. This might be a moment where it is better to go along than cause a commotion with someone who could kill her as easily as she draws breath.

She is downtrodden and dispirited and disgusted with herself. She knows Eve Polastri is a really shitty person. She doesn’t feel she deserves love or affection or even simple human kindness. Not after the way she betrayed Bill and Kenny and Niko and every other relationship over her damned infatuation with her personal demon. Beyond the few tattered remnants of her self-respect, what is left to keep fighting Villanelle for?

Eve can't think of a single blessed thing, so she mumbles in response, “Go ahead. I can’t stop you.” 

This is not what Villanelle expected to hear. The Eve she knows would fill the room with vile curses and gritty determination to push back, to resist any attempt to make her do what she does not want to do. The surly, stubborn Eve who could be both infuriating and alluring is what the assassin adored about her. She liked that Eve challenged and confronted her in a way few had before. 

That version of Eve was not present at the moment. Instead, a faded version of herself stood naked and defeated before Villanelle, and to her dismay she found Eve’s submission not at all to her liking. 

Eve was a lioness, not a domesticated house cat. Her way was to roar with anger and ferocity against the rules of bureaucracy and take on anyone that dared to try to tame her. It was that feral side of Eve Polastri which most excited Villanelle. Yes, Eve could roar when confronted or challenged, but she would purr with ecstatic delight when she stopped fighting herself.

The Russian assassin bent slightly at the waist to retrieve the specially blended shampoo she had commissioned from a chemist who promised it would make even the most unruly and unkempt hair as soft as a swan’s feathers.

_It had better or I will return back demanding both a refund and your right eye and left ear,_ she had snarled in response. At these prices, nothing but the best would do for Villanelle and for the only lady in her life. 

She guided the shorter woman underneath the warm soaking spray and poured a handful into her hands. The scent was something foreign to Villanelle’s sophisticated nose, but it hinted of spices and flowers. Slowly, she worked up a lather and then sank her hands into Eve’s lush tresses. 

_Ahhhhhhhhhh. Ooh---that feels good._

Villanelle grinned. Yes, it did feel good. It felt so good to lose herself within Eve. She wanted to make Eve moan and scream and call her name. She wanted Eve to see that she did know what love is. She didn’t have to hurt Eve to get what she wanted from her. Her forgiveness. Her acceptance. Her trust.

Her love. That is what she desired most. Villanelle massaged the shampoo into Eve’s scalp and her eyes roamed downward and stopped at the surgical scar on the shorter woman’s left shoulder. 

_I was certain I shot her lower in the back. How could my aim be that far off?_

“Are you enjoying this, Eve?”

No response. Villanelle frowned. 

"Are you okay? What's wrong, baby?" she said as she gently placed her hands on Eve's shoulder. In response, She flinched. Slightly, but noticeably, and Villanelle immediately removed her hands. The water was pleasantly hot, yet she could see Eve was trembling.

  
  
Had she misread Eve’s mood and overstepped? Inwardly, she cursed her rashness. Outwardly, she spoke calmly attempting to reassure Eve she would not rush her into anything she wasn’t prepared for. 

"Eve? Please look at me. I want to help."

With her wet hair hanging in dripping ringlets, Eve slowly turned to face the young Russian. For a moment, Villanelle was confused: _is she...crying or is she afraid of me_? 

Eve closed the space between them and wrapped her arms around Villanelle's taut waist, forcing her to take a pleased, but surprised step backward. Automatically, Villanelle returned Eve's embrace and pulled her closer. Their breasts flattened against each other as shampoo and warm water cascaded over their bodies. 

" _Thank you!_ Thank you, Oksana." Hearing her abandoned name would normally be followed by foul curses and dire threats of impending bodily harm, but when Eve said it in her slightly husky purr, it sounded like the sweetest music Villanelle had ever heard.

  
  
“You’re so good to me. You’re helping me when I don’t even know how to be helped. I never knew Oksana how much you care. I--I didn’t know.” Eve murmured she buried her head into on Villanelle’s strong shoulder. Eve grip tightened as if she would blow away without her beautiful obsession tethering her to the floor. Instinctively, Villanelle recognized how close to the edge this fragile woman was teetering. 

She would give Eve another push. 

“Remember what I told you that night in your kitchen?” as she stroked the former agent’s raven dark hair.  
  


“That you were expensive?” the shorter woman replied quizzically.

“I _am_ expensive, but the best things always are, darling Eve. No, I meant the first time when you fed me the Mustache’s shepherd’s pie.”   
  


Now it was Eve’s turn to frown. “I don’t remember that part of the conversation. I was pretty stressed out at the time.” 

“I said you have a nice body, but now, I’m reconsidering that.”

“Oh. It’s not much to look at, but---”

“No, silly. I should have said you have a _great_ body because you do.”

She looked down at the precise moment Eve looked up eyes wide in wonderment and first their eyes met and locked. Their lips duplicated the gesture as Villanelle dipped lower to lean in and began to kiss her with even more intensity.

  
  
“But my breasts are so small and I’m just a lumpy old woman.”

“Shush. I’ll hear none of this nonsense. You are not lumpy or old, Eve. I like your breasts very much.”

“You do?” Eve answered with honest surprise. “Niko and his friend Dom told me in Polish I was flat-chested.” Villanelle did not respond with words as she playfully nibbled on the shorter woman’s ear lobe.  
  
“Men are such fools,” Villanelle murmured. “They think the big breasts are the shit. I like breasts like yours better. Large enough to be noticed, but small enough to be cupped---”

Her words were cut off as she broke the kiss off and with graceful ease dragged her lips over Eve’s right breast and sucked the nipple erect. Eve’s grip tightened even more as her head lolled back and she yelped in surprised pleasure. Niko had never lavished this sort of attention to Eve’s breasts. She had never responded to him the way she was to this strange young woman who seemingly knew her better than she knew herself. 

“ _OH SHIT, OKSANA!”_

Villanelle's response to hearing her birth name was to gently guide Eve back up against the shower wall. She had waited so long for this moment and she meant to savor it. With one arm wrapped around Eve’s waist, her experienced fingers began to touch sensitive nerve endings under the neck, down the spine and around the shoulder blades. Like little cannons going off, Eve twisted and twitched as her body became overloaded by Villanelle’s skillful stimulation. 

Alternating between sucking her nipples, then filling Eve’s warm mouth with her darting tongue, a guttural growl emerged from deep in Villanelle’s throat and Eve’s groans grew louder.

  
  


_“Oooooh, yeah. Oh,_ **_fuck_ ** _yeah! That feels so good. Don’t stop._ **_PLEASE_ ** _don’t stop.”_

Villanelle _didn’t_ stop. She picked up the pace and Eve thought she would drown in water, in lust, in pleasure. Pleasures such as she hadn’t experienced in _years_. 

Then without warning, she dropped to her knees before Eve, whose Eve’s eyes and mouth opened in surprise that the kiss had been broken so suddenly, only to find Villanelle was now going to work on the lips of her pussy lips. Gently...far more gently than Eve imagined possible, the assassin’s fingers deftly began to stroke between her wobbly knees.

  
  
_This is wrong_ was the thought that ricocheted in the ex-agent’s hazy mind. Eve knew s he wanted this. She wanted it **bad** . There was no denying this any longer. Her last thought before a sleepless night was the same as her first thought of a demoralizing day: _Villanelle._ Now she here was. In the flesh and all over hers.   
_  
Touching Eve. Tasting Eve. Thrilling Eve._

Villanelle was relentless and Eve was desperate for more. Steadying herself with one arm pressed to a wall, with her other she grasped Villanelle’s damp hair and thrust her hips forward and her cunt into the woman’s surprised, but eager mouth. 

“ _Mmmmmm, Eve_ ” Villanelle said as she nuzzled her nose and face and lips all over the sweet taste drenching her face dripping across her darting tongue. She savored the 

Eve felt the barriers she had erected against Villanelle's intrusion crumbling like stale crackers. Wasn't she supposed to be straight? How could she possibly be so turned on by another woman doing her like this? Eve wasn't sure she was who she thought she was. All she thought was she wanted to be whomever she had to keep feeling the amazing sensations the sensuous young woman on her knees was sending flooding through her trembling body. 

She was going to either pass out or come. Both seemed like wonderful choices at the moment as Villanelle lapped away not missing a drop. She suddenly wanted to see what was this magnificent manifestation of her wettest of wet dreams was doing to her and she opened her eyes. She was surprised by the splendid sight of Villanelle meeting her stare with her own and to her shock, two rows of dazzlingly white teeth were grinning back at Eve with lustful satisfaction. 

Villanelle was reveling in eating Eve alive as much as she was enjoying being devoured by her. 

"You like that, baby, don't you?," Villanelle murmured before grinding her mouth into the older woman's succulent pussy. Eagerly, she lapped up Eve's sweet juices as they mixed with the warm water cascading over them both. Eve didn't respond---she couldn't respond--something was happening deep, deep down. Something she hadn't felt in a terribly long and lonely time, but it was coming back to her now like a forgotten favorite song and her entire body was responding rhythmically to the beat of what this incredible woman was doing to her.

  
Almost on cue, Villanelle sped up the pace of her tongue stroking Eve’s pussy lips in the most delightful way as she gasped, dug her nails into Villanelle’s shoulders and tilted her head back and she screamed. 

Villanelle had waited so long to get exactly where she was right now. Making Eve call her name sounded like music, but she wanted more from her. Villanelle wanted Eve to admit that it was _her_ , and not that dull nobody she had married, who knew how to please and satisfy and love _her_ like he never could. 

Because Villanelle knew Eve was wrong when she had told her on that terrible day in Rome she didn’t know what love was. No one had ever loved her the way she knew Eve could, once she shook off the last threadbare ties to her old life. Eve didn’t want to change her or control her. Eve wanted to **_be_ ** like Villanelle and once she was, nothing would ever come between them again. Not even each other. Not again. 

She had impulsively allowed her horrid temper and impatience to overrule and in their awful wake Eve was left face down in the splendid ruins of Hadrian's Villa and Villanelle fleeing from the wrath of The Twelve. There had been no shortage of women who reminded her enough, but not too much, of Eve, to take her in, permit them to take care of her until she inevitably wore out her limited patience of their admiration and lust. 

Once the inevitable boredom set in that was when she would take enough Euros from these wealthy fools and start the same thing all over again in yet another place under yet another assumed identity. 

Maybe even kill someone when her bloodlust could not be checked in place for a moment more. That urge could be suppressed but it was never dormant. 

Villanelle’s preoccupation was interrupted by the tentative, but tender touch of Eve’s warm hand caressing her cheek. Before she could respond, Eve placed a nervous, but aroused peck to it. 

“Vil--oh, fuck it---Oksana-, I hope you won’t be angry with me for calling you that,” she stammered nervously, “But I have to tell you something before I lose my nerve.”

Eve’s head was tilted down and away, from Villanelle’s eyes. With great deliberateness, she pushed wet curls away from Eve’s face and said softly, “I am Oksana with you and only with you. Tell me what you need to tell me. I won’t be angry. Whatever you need to say to me, just say it.”

She couldn’t tell if it was the hot water or tears that were reddening Eve’s face, but before she could decide, Eve sighed, then locked eyes with her and responded in the quietest voice Villanelle had ever heard from this slight, but powerful woman. 

“You’re the only one that I can kind of trust and depend on because you’ve been going through your own war. I’ve been going through my own war. And I just need to rest for a second and actually, the only person I can rest with is you.”  
  
Villanelle’s eyes widened and the twitch of her mouth was purely involuntary. It wasn’t quite an admission of love on Eve’s part, but it was a confession how Villanelle had made herself Eve’s new home. 

_She_ **_is_ ** _mine. And I---I am truly hers._

“Now I want to make you scream the way you made me. I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel,” Eve whispered in a husky and seductive tone. _“I want you.”_

Those three words were not foreign to Villanelle’s ears. She had heard them spoken many times in many languages. This time was different. There was no artifice or pretense here. This was not someone trying to flatter her to go to bed with them. This was Eve and there was no pretense to her earnestness. She truly wanted Villanelle.

Knowing what to _do_ with her was another thing entirely.  
  


Over the years many women, and more than a few men, had knelt between Villanelle’s legs and slowly parted her smooth, sturdy thighs to pay homage and drink deeply of her nectar. There had been eager commoners on a one-night stand on a cold night in a strange city and haughty royals willingly dropping to their knees for just a taste. They would touch her and if they pleased her, she might touch them in return. 

Mostly she did not. Oksana preferred to be served rather than to serve in return. None of these women or men had Besides, most of them were terrible. They either tried too hard or not hard enough as if their positions of power and privilege, celebrity, wealth and previous experience was all it took to make her call their names in ecstatic gratitude. 

  
  
_Oksana never called their names. Not before Anna and not since Anna._

Brushing her wet hair from her eyes, Eve knelt before the taller woman, and gazed up at her face. Oksana simply smiled and nodded affirmatively.

Eve was tentative, and then she angled her head upward. Closing her eyes and sticking out her tongue as it began to explore. _I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’ll do my best._

Villanelle could barely suppress a giggle. Eve was not good at eating her out. In fact,, Eve was _terrible_ at eating her out.

One moment she was licking too hard and the next not hard enough. She was going too slow and then far too fast. She had no rhythm and was stiff and rigid in her head movements. Oksana’s way was not to be overly analytical about sex, but she knew good from bad, and this was _bad_. 

The saving grace was that this was **Eve**. It was Eve trying to excite her and what she lacked in experience she was making up for in exuberance. She had been where Eve was now: on her knees and no idea what to do now that she was down there. 

_I am a patient teacher, my darling. Tonight, you are a beginner. Within weeks I can instruct you on how to please a woman in ways only another woman can. A woman’s body is nothing like a man’s. All their parts are out there in the open and waiting to be fondled and tugged and licked and sucked and bitten and administered to._

_Our bodies require a bit more---navigation---to make the magic happen._

Villanelle licked her lips slowly. In part, to encourage the hapless woman who would look up in hopes her first-time attempt at eating her out was having the desired effect. It _wasn’t,_ but just the same Villanelle found her herself enjoying Eve’s efforts. 

Because despite being amateurish, it was still fucking hot. 

_The bodies of women are different than the men you have been with. Below our waists, all the treasures are inside and require a bit more effort to unlock it and take us where we both wish to go. You will have to find a constant pressure and pace you are capable of maintaining (without your neck and tongue getting tired) to bring me to orgasm, darling Eve. You are making the same mistakes we all make in trying to please a woman. You are doing what you_ **_think_ ** _I like instead of getting to know me a bit better and_ **_asking me_ ** _what I like_.

“Does that feel good, baby?” Eve mumbled between lazy licks. “Am I doing this right?.”

It took every bit of self-control for Villanelle to not burst out in laughter. She thought of being tactful, but instead, she replied with characteristic bluntness.. “No. Not really, but I appreciate an eager student for me to instructor. You are lucky to have such an excellent teacher.”

Eve stared for a moment vacillating between frustration, disappointment before settling on familiar anger and snapped, “You are _such_ an asshole.”  
  


With a grunt Eve stiffly straightened up as Villanelle turned the faucet off. Before she could turn around, her former adversary had wrapped both arms around her waist and nuzzled her warm lips in between Villanelle’s shoulder blades. She began to kiss on the taller woman’s back and then nipped playfully on her sweet-smelling skin.

Inexperienced or not, the Russian had to admit it did feel pretty good coming from someone she actually cared about and in genuine appreciation, she purred a response in a throaty voice growng thick with hergrowing passion, “Ummm, yeah. I like that. What’s got you so excited?” 

Eve dragged her tongue down Villanelle’s back as she caressed a firm and cellulite-free ass, “ _You._ You make me want to... _do_ things. I want to make you scream, Villanelle. I want to make you come calling my name.” 

Villanelle wrapped Eve in her embrace and replied, “You will, my sweet. I only feel good with you. I only feel things with you, but we have to take care of business first and pleasure later.” 

“But _Oksanaaaaa_ …” Eve pouted before Villanelle quieted her by pressing their mouths together and cutting off further words with her darting, thrusting tongue. 

“The sooner we get done with business Eve, the sooner we can get back to the pleasure. Do you have any plans for today?”

“It’s Saturday. I have nothing planned,” she replied with a slightly confused look.

“Good. I have nothing but plans for you and I today,” Villanelle grinned. “Now move your sexy ass and grab that hair dryer and that comb.”

“Hey!” Eve said in mock surprise. “The hair dryer we can use, but you can forget about that damn comb.”

Villanelle cocked her head in a quizzical way much in the way one of Eve’s stupid chickens would and replied brightly , “Oh really? And pray tell, why is that, Mrs. Polastri?”

“Fuck you, Miss Astankova,” Eve snarled in mock annoyance. “Don’t you get it? This hair was made to kill little plastic combs like this.”

As one they they both burst out laughing at the same time and locked hands as they grabbed their towels and walked out of the steamy bathroom. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All praise and respect to **V for Villanelle** for her suggestions and edits (which are greatly appreciated) and her encouragement to keep pushing on this WIP when I was ready to give up on it. Seriously. I was about to select "delete" and blow it away like a bad smell. V pulled me back over the edge, so thank you for being you. 
> 
> Let me also thank the wordsmiths in the Killing Eve Discord group I'm happy to be a part of. Some of you are going through some of the same frustrations and self-doubt I have had with this WIP, but you all have inspired me to get at it. I can't tell you how much you have given me the will to not worry about kudos and comments and clicks, and just _write_ the damn thing. I would advise any writer who loses faith in their story and/or their abilities to be the writer you want to be to find an editor, beta-reader, partner, or bestie who will not b.s. you and tell you the cold hard facts of life but does so in a way that builds you up instead of tears you down. 
> 
> Every home should have one.


	4. Soft and Wet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve and Villanelle take a night and day off. 
> 
> They eat. 
> 
> They sleep. 
> 
> They talk. 
> 
> They do things that are not eating, sleeping or talking.

**__ **

**_(compensated illustration by Andy)_ **

_This morning feels different._

Villanelle has no idea why it is but she knows it is. She’s not home. She has no home. 

After assassinating another target, she’s on her personal time in yet another luxurious hotel in yet another European antiquity/anachronism of a city and in bed with yet another gorgeous woman whose name she didn’t ask for since she would never remember it anyway.

_This morning feels different._

As conscious thought begins to creep back into her throbbing head Villanelle gets yet another reminder that she should not drink to excess. It’s not simply bad form, it makes her more dangerous. Instead of giving some anonymous random encounter the most pleasure they had ever had, she might decide it might be funny to see what sort of faces they would make as she strangled them to death.

Wait! This wasn’t some anonymous rando she was lying in bed with. This was not some pretty face, great body and empty mind. This was Eve!

Eve was in Villanelle’s bed. She had come freely and of her own volition. Immediately after one revelation came a second. She was indeed in bed with Eve, and they were both naked. 

_This morning feels_ **_very_ ** _different_. 

Check that. She was also lying on her stomach and Eve’s legs were spread wide and resting on her shoulders. 

Villanelle’s entire face, nose and mouth was pressed into Eve’s damp, drippy, musky pussy.

  
  
_What the entire fuck?_

Two bloodshot eyes struggled to pry open, but as they reluctantly did, the killer blonde found she was gazing up at the pretty face of a dead-asleep Eve Polastri, who snored and snorted in an most unladylike manner, but otherwise had no other cbomment on the matter.

Eve’s right arm was thrown back over her head and nestled in a raven-colored nest of the most amazing hair Villanelle had ever seen in her entire life. She wanted to lift Eve’s legs from her shoulders, prop herself up on her elbows and get a better look.  
  
She really wanted to. The problem was she couldn’t fucking move. 

Eve was soundly asleep. Her snores were that of a small child’s. Soft, not loud and slumbering so soundly and so perfectly at peace. That was nice, Villanelle thought. She could listen to Eve’s peaceful slumbers and be perfectly content knowing it was because of what Villanelle had done to her to make her doze so well.

She was still amazing. She still had it. 

But at the moment, Eve had her at a disadvantage. She was locked between the legs of her lover for life (if she had anything to say about it) and while it wasn’t entirely unpleasant, she wasn’t quite ready to cede the superior position to Eve.

Not. Quite. YET.

But one day, Villanelle knew she would be fragile glass in Eve’s cruel grasp and she would be broken into pieces by this amazing Asian woman with her even amazing hair. Eve.

Her Eve.   
  


You belong to me, Eve and I belong to you.

**Just. Not. Quite. YET.**

_I may be a psychopath but I’m not crazy. I may have done some crazy things like chop a few knobs off and that sort of thing, but I’m not insane. I knew from the moment I saw her in that hospital washroom I was going to make her mine. No matter what. No matter how many lies I had to tell and lives I had to take, Eve Polastri was always going to be mine._

Mine and only mine, and now she is. Villanelle had allowed Eve to put her in the unusual and unfamiliar setting where she was sharing her with another person and a shitty man no less! That was done now. What was hers was hers alone. 

Villanelle would never share this woman again. She’d kill anyone who tried to take what was hers and should Eve, get any ideas of going back to Niko----it was best not to think of what she might do to stop that. It would be something...extreme.  
  
A more immediate issue was the compromising situation she found herself in.

Eve’s surprising strength aside, this wasn’t the first time Villanelle had been caught between the thighs of a woman of slight stature, but surprising strength. She knew how to extricate herself from these sort of sticky situations.   
  


_The trick was to go deeper...and keep breathing._

Instead of futilely pulling away, Villanelle pushed forward and smothered herself within Eve’s dewy pussy. Above her, the brunette began to stir, as if switching from a pretty good dream to a much better one. A much hotter and sexier dream. A drenching wet dream.

But this was no dream.

With the skill that comes only from previous failure to consistent success, Villanelle pushed her nose first, lips next and tongue finally deeper and deeper as she began to savagely kiss, lick and suck and grind herself into this delectable, succulent, and just plain yummy pussy. 

  
_The Mustache-In-Fudge could never have done to this woman if he tried for a decade to replicate what Villanelle had done in just one night._   
_  
_ _I made Eve come more times in a few hours than she had in her entire life. I told her, “I’m not with them when I’m with them.” She didn’t know what to do with that. She was confused. Maybe a little intrigued, but definitely confused. Eve was scared to find out what I might do to her, but was more scared not to._ _  
_ _  
_ _She couldn’t stay away. I fucking shot her and left her to die and she still came back to me. She_ **_does_ ** _love me. She must. Who else does that for someone unless they love them?_

Eve’s left arm extended and was quickly followed by her right as her legs shot up vertically as she kept her hands forcing Villanelle’s head down and pushing her mouth into her. Eve was holding Villanelle in place and did not--could not stop---until her body began to shake and tremble.  
  
This was Eve’s fifth orgasm of the night and three more than she had ever experienced in her entire 45 years of life on the planet.

  
Villanelle raised her saturated and sopping face from between Eve’s legs. It was odd how triumphant, yet worn out she felt. 

She had forgotten how much work was involved in taking a “straight” woman’s lesbian virginity. Inwardly, she snorted. There was no such thing as straight women. Only the few women who had experienced the arousal and awakening of being pleasured by Villanelle and the many who had not and never would. 

_“God! GOD. Villanelle--I love you. I love you so fucking much. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”_

This was not the first time Villanelle had heard the same words. The difference was she was now actively listening. Because this was not someone she simply wanted to play with and discard once they bored her. This was **Eve**. She wanted to do this to Eve and only Eve, but more she wanted it in return. She wanted not just to love but to be loved. Loved by Eve. 

_This morning feels very different because nothing like this had ever happened to her_ _before_. _I wake up in the most interesting places. But I like it here. It’s warm like home._

It even smells like home.

“Oh, Eve,” she murmured happily directly into the slumbering woman’s tangy, but still dripping sweet pussy. Eve snored again. Louder this time but still she did not relax her grip.

This was fine with Villanelle. There are certain things you accept at home you would never accept anywhere else. 

Villanelle was finally home. One part of her thought she could even get used to it.

Another part--the jaded, cynical part of Villanelle---scoffed and reminded her, “You don’t get to have nice things. You don’t deserve nice things.”  
  


Were it not for Eve’s peaceful slumbers which she would not--could not---disturb---Villanelle might have screamed into this void* to frighten it away. 

But she knew the void was never frightened. It merely retreated until such time as it emerged again to snatch away any chance of happiness for Villanelle.

“I _do_ deserve nice things. I deserve Eve. Nothing can come between us.” Villanelle whispered. 

Then she fell into a fitful sleep for the next four hours. 

\-----------------------

  
“Eve, I want you to stay.” 

Six words. Six little words was all it took for the warm, buttery sweetness of the flaky croissant in Eve’s mouth to turn as dry and tasteless as chewing cardboard. She had known this moment was coming, yet still dreaded its arrival.

“Stay?” That’s sweet of you, V, but I have to go home.” Eve replied as she chewed her buttery cardboard. She tried to maintain an outside veneer of calm, but within her was nothing but turmoil. 

Villanelle knew weakness when she saw it and bullshit when she heard it. Instead of backing off she bored in harder.

“Home? Where’s that? That shitty little roach motel you sleep in? That’s not home.”

Despite not being an attorney, Eve knew one of the prime rules of practicing law was never to ask a question to which the answer wasn’t already known. Villanelle was systematically boxing Eve into a corner. She had forgotten one of the cardinal rules in dealing with a psychopath: they are experts at reading body language and finding weaknesses. 

Eve had come crawling to Villanelle. Crawling back to the woman she loved, yes, but the woman who had wrecked her life, destroyed her marriage, her reputation, her friendships and maybe her mind. This was the woman who had shot her in the back and walked away leaving her to die in the ruins of Hadrian’s Villa. 

All the tenderness and patience and comfort and gifts and amazing clothes and toe-curling sex came at a price, and now this sullen 27-year-old assassin was ready to collect.

Villanelle’s right arm was draped over Eve holding her in place. 

“Are you going to walk away from me again, Eve?” The young woman spoke in a way devoid of emotion. That was likely not a good sign, the former agent thought. She wondered if this was Villanelle’s voice right before she killed someone.

Best not to find out.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” she replied dryly. “But for my own safety, should I?”

“What?” Villanelle removed her arm and sat up in bed. Eve did likewise and twisted around to face her.

“Should I walk away? Is that the safest thing for me? For us?”

Now it was Villanelle who looked puzzled, but before she could respond, Eve pressed on. Keeping her tone even she spoke slowly as she measured each word before uttering it. 

“The last time we were together in bed I got angry and stabbed you. Remember that?”  
  


“It’s not something I dwell on, but yeah, I haven’t forgotten it.”  
  


“We barely ever spoke about it. The last time we had a conversation about trying to make something of this strange relationship, you got angry, shot me in the back and left me to die.”  
  


The young woman’s eyelids narrowed, but she said nothing.  
  


“We’ve never spoken about _that._ ”

  
Villanelle’s expression was unreadable, but her response was not. She leaned over and then laid herself on top of Eve and began to smother her mouth with kisses. Deep kisses. Wet kisses. Good kisses. 

_Really_ good kisses. Eve didn’t want to moan out loud, but it felt too hot not to. With abruptness, Villanelle pulled back and out of their coupling leaving Eve wanting more, but getting less. 

“What...what...why did you stop?”

  
_Because you were getting the upper hand, darling, and that will not be permitted. Not now and not here. Maybe when you’ve earned the privilege I’ll consciously allow you to top me Eve, but today is not that day. You showed me all I need to do to get you back in line is kiss you until your nipples get hard as nails, and your pussy is so hot and wet you can barely walk or talk._

_You’re mine because I chose you. You’re mine because I know how to please you. You’re mine because I deserve you._  
  


Villanelle’s response was sobering and her voice carefully modulated. “Let’s talk, Eve. Let’s talk about you stabbing me and not apologizing. Let’s talk about me shooting you and trying to fuck you so good you forget to ask me to apologize to you. I’ll talk to you about anything you want to talk about.”  
  


Eve inhaled deeply as she taught her lungs how to breathe again. “You mean that? _Any questions_? Nothing is off-limits?”

“Yeah. Anything except something which would put our lives in greater danger than they already are, so don’t ask me anything about The Twelve work and why MI6 doesn’t really want to stop them. Got that? That is off-limits for both other sakes. Deal?”  
  


Eve was enjoying all this comfort and joy far too much to waste any of this precious time together with the woman she had fantasized about for months discussing MI6 in general or fucking Carolyn Martens specifically. 

“Deal.” She raised her right arm for Villanelle to give her a high-five, but the blonde missed the cue and instead took Eve’s hand and began to suck her fingers one-by-one. The warmth of her young lover’s mouth was matched by a similar heat in her groin.  
  
  


"I don’t know if I’ll be able to form an intelligent sentence if you don’t stop doing that,” she gasped. 

“Do you _want_ me to stop doing that?” the young Russian mumbled as two fingers began to disappear deeper down her throat.

“Hell, no.” Eve croaked as she bit down on her lower lip. “Don’t you have a gag reflex?”

  
  
Villanelle nodded in the negative as she returned the full usage of Eve’s fingers to their owner with a loud **POP!** “I’ll talk to you all day and all night if you want, but when we are done talking I want an answer to my question and don’t lie to me. I’ll know if you do.”

  
  
“I won’t lie. That much I can promise you, Oksana. I’m done with lies. I’m done lying to myself.”

_For a moment, Villanelle dropped her defenses to see Eve standing before her, baring her soul to her, and it made her feel both pride and passion in the woman’s naked honesty. This is my creation. This is the Eve she had always wanted._

_She wanted her again and she was going to get what she wanted._

“Well, this has been quite a fascinating conversation, but now get back on the bed. I’m going to ride your face.”

\---------------------

Drenched in sweat and swallowing fresh squeezed Villanelle juice in her mouth, Eve could only lie flat on her back and repeat over and over these words

“Oh fuck. Oh shit. Oh my fucking God. You’re fucking killing me here. You know that, don’t you?"  


With a devilish smile, Villanelle was right there hovering over Eve. “Yeah, I do. I know _exactly_ what I am doing here. Do you want to know how many times I’ve fingered myself to sleep thinking about doing to you what I’m doing to you right now?”

“Mmmm...is it in the double digits?”

“More like triple digits. As is how many times and how many fingers I’m sticking in myself then---and in you right now.”

  
  
Eve gasped as Villanelle’s sexy words were followed by sexier deeds. _Shit. She's inside me again!_ “God--no. Just stop. I can’t. Not again. It...it’s too soon," she begged.  
  


“We don’t have all weekend, Eve. We have to take matters in our own hands right now.”

“Funny, you are not,” the ex-agent panted in satisfaction. “I’m not as young as you, baby. Slow down before you screw me to death, okay?” There were no head games involved in Eve’s plea. She desperately needed a time-out. _Hello, police? There's this gorgeous girl who is trying to kill me by fucking me to death!_

“Fine. Let me pull up what’s for lunch,” she said lustfully. 

“Cool,” Eve groaned. “It’s time for some talking while I can still form actual words, besides everything from the neck down is numb.”  
  


“I take pride in being thorough, Eve. I am a professional," she snorted in mock disdain. 

The sound of Villanelle’s giggle was like a little girl holding her first kitten. Why was she so damn cute, yet still so dangerous? She watched as Villanelle made a few taps on the phone. Lunch is on the way.

  
“What did you order, V?”  
  


The blonde yawned and stretched like a lioness enjoying a lazy afternoon on a sunny day, which was kind of true. I had to choose between egg & cress mayonnaise, smoked salmon, cream cheese & dill mint yogurt, cucumber, Coronation chicken, cheddar cheese & pickle. Nothing too heavy.”

“So what did you order?”

“I just told you.”

“What? You mean you ordered _everything?_ ”

  
  
“I didn’t know what you wanted, Eve,” she shrugged. “It just seemed easier.”

“You could have asked me, you dick,” Eve shot back. 

“I could have, but I didn’t want to. I did choose the chocolate heaven cupcakes and the lemon, raspberry and rose cake, so I made a decision. You can thank me later.”

  
With unexpected gentleness, Villanelle began to massage Eve’s sore shoulders Just when she thought she had her figured out, out came yet another surprise from this astounding enigma. As soon as Eve began to mount a defense, Villanelle launched another assault on her body that left her shivering and quaking in euphoria. 

“Why do you want to go home, Eve?” the blonde whispered into her ear. “I can take care of you. Dress you like the queen you are. Worship you like the goddess you are,” as she emphasized her praise with enthusiastic licks slowly dragging her tongue up and down Eve’s neck.

“You would do all of that? For me?” Eve's was raspy and dreamy. 

“Yes. I absolutely would. I can give you everything you ever wanted and I will protect you from our enemies. I would kill for you. I would die for you.”  
  


Eve’s eyes snapped open. She had to take control of the situation before she lost her mind. 

“Where’s your phone? I need to look up something. Do you have an Alexa?”

Pouting at the older woman’s interruption of the pleasuring she was performing, Villanelle grumpily replied, “Yeah. I have a phone, an iPad, a laptop and Alexa. Something you need to find out right now?”

Ignoring the Russian’s petulance, Eve lifted Villanelle’s hands from her shoulder and turned to face her. “This is important, baby. For both of us. I want to explain something to you. Have you ever heard of a poet named Maya Angelou?”

A baffled look crossed Villanelle’s face. “A poet? I don’t---No, I don’t think so. I’m not a fan of poetry. Why?”

The brightness of Eve’s smile dazzled Villanelle. She had never seen Eve look so...so happy. 

“Alexa?” Eve said. “Read ‘I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings--but change the pronouns to female”’ and the sonorous tones of Maya Angelou began to fill the room.  
  


“Really, Eve? Poetry?” the assassin smirked with an arched eyebrow. “Are you going to start playing guitar next?”

“Oh, shush. Be quiet and listen,” the ex-agent snapped

_A free bird leaps_

_on the back of the wind_

_and floats downstream_

_till the current ends_

_and dips her wing_

_in the orange sun rays_

_and dares to claim the sky._

_But a bird that stalks_

_down her narrow cage_

_can seldom see through_

_her bars of rage_

_her wings are clipped and_

_her feet are tied_

_so she opens her throat to sing._

_The caged bird sings_

_with a fearful trill_

_of things unknown_

_but longed for still_

_and her tune is heard_

_on the distant hill_

_for the caged bird_

_sings of freedom._

_The free bird thinks of another breeze_

_and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees_

_and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn_

_and she names the sky her own_

_But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams_

_her shadow shouts on a nightmare scream_

_her wings are clipped and her feet are tied_

_so she opens her throat to sing._

_The caged bird sings_

_with a fearful trill_

_of things unknown_

_but longed for still_

_and her tune is heard_

_on the distant hill_

_for the caged bird_

_sings of freedom._

It was Villanelle’s voice that cracked the silence after the Black woman’s dulcet tones faded away. She sounded nearly awed.

“That...that was beautiful, Eve.” 

You liked it? Eve had slipped her bathrobe back on and handed the other to Villanelle who looked lost in a thought. 

“Yeah. I’m not sure I totally understand all of it, but it...that’s pretty.” 

  
  
Eve stood up and extended the robe to Villanelle. When she drew nearer, Eve sprung up on her toes and laid a wet smooch on the young woman’s cheek. “Here, turn around and slip this on.” Villanelle smiled at Eve’s act of affection, and felt a slight dampness in the corner of her eyes.  
  
  
“Yes, it was written by a Black woman with a brilliant mind and beautiful soul. I’ve always loved that poem. It was written in 1969 and it always felt so.. _.cathartic_.”

Eve’s voice was distant and her eyes were closed as if she was halfway between sleep and wakefulness. Yet, she hadn’t forgotten she had to exercise _some_ autonomy here, and with Villanelle’s formidable defenses down for the moment, she had to seize the moment and deal with the consequences. 

“You’re the free bird, Oksana. I’m the caged bird, and I need my freedom.”   
  


There was more Eve could have said, but by calling her ‘Oksana’ instead of ‘Villanelle’ she had disarmed the assassin. 

“I don’t want to be away from you. I don’t want to lose you, Eve. Not again. Not anymore. 

“You won’t lose me Oksana. Don’t you see? You freed me. You saw I was caged and you set me free. You shook my cage and you freed me. Freed me from a marriage who I love, but was never in love with. Freed me from a job where I was dying by inches with all my joy and life and possibilities slowly dribbling away like drops of water down a drain.”  
  


Eve paused and gulped. As she took a moment to compose herself, Villanelle for once in her life realized she shouldn’t interrupt this moment with a smart-assed crack. Both Konstantin and Dasha have taught her to read a moment, gauge which reaction was most appropriate, and implement which course of action would achieve the desired result. 

_I’m a psychopath. Not an idiot. Eve is opening up herself to me. Don’t fuck this up by saying something stupid. Let her talk. I’ll just sit here shutting the fuck up._

“I am in love with you Oksana Astankova. I want to spend whatever time we have together and whether we’re running from The Twelve, M16 and the Mafia, I’ll run with you. Just give me a little time to fly on my own. Just a little time to open my throat and sing my own song of freedom. I don’t want anybody to tether me to a perch in a cage. Not even a golden cage like this hotel room, do you understand me, baby?”   
  
The bearing of a woman’s soul naked could not help but to reach a dormant part of Villanelle’s soul she had no idea still existed. 

_Is this love? Fuck, this is so confusing!._

“I.. _.think_ I do. But you are frightening me, Eve. I can’t lose you again. I understand you want to fly solo for a while. No strings. No ties. Nothing to weigh you down, but if anything were to happen to you because I wasn’t there to protect you, I don’t know what I would do,”  
  
“No, that’s not true. I do know what I would do,” she said, even as her eyes began to well up with wet, salty tears. “But it would be bad. _Real bad._ A lot of people would end up dead.”  
  


Averting her eyes, Eve sniffled and swiped her bare arm over her dribbling teardrops. She gulped for air and once finding it, she plunged on. She didn’t want to continue, but she couldn’t go forward until she did.  
  


“Everyone dies, Oksana. It’s what we do with the time we’re alive that matters. We have to shake the cage, break free and never permit anyone to put us back in a cage.”

  
  
“What about me?”  
  


“What about you?”  
  


“Am I allowed to set you free from the cage you were in with Niko and put you in a much nicer one with me?”  
  


This made Eve frown. Quietly, she replied, “ Oksana, my love, I don’t want to live in _anyone’s_ cage. Not Niko’s. Not yours. Not anymore.”  
  


A slight sense of unease was becoming a dark shadow of doubt. What was Eve saying? Didn’t she want to be with the one woman who knew her best. Didn’t Eve want to be with the one woman who had seen her at her worst?  
  


“Nobody can hold me down. Nobody can hold me back. Nobody can stop me. Nobody should even try to.” 

  
“You know something about cages before Konstantin and The Twelve came for you and gave you better options, but not true freedom.”

“We can be free together. We can be anything we want to be as long as we’re together. Don’t leave me Eve. Please!”

I agree, but I need to fly solo for a while, baby. I don’t want to trade Niko’s leash for yours. I have to do this. I don’t know for how long, but I don’t think it will be too long. It hurts to be in love with you, but it hurts more not to. 

She reached out for this wondrous woman to hug her, hold her and never let her go---until Eve held up a hand in protest and firmly shook that magnificent mane of raven dark locks.

“No. Don’t touch me, Oksana. I don’t want you to touch me. I have to get this out. I’m not angry with you any longer. I’ve given up on that. But the hurt and the resentment I feel toward you? That hasn’t gone anywhere. If anything, the closer I get to you the more painful it is.”

Now, Villanelle was somewhat annoyed, and extremely confused. _What the fuck just happened here? We were_ **_SO_ ** _close…_

Eve jumped up and ran her hair through her hands. Then she began to sort through the drawers and pulled out a pair of brand new panties as well as a bra. Villanelle looked on at the Korean woman rifling through the clothes completely oblivious none of them were the ones she wore when she walked in last night. 

The host had quickly gathered the guest's nasty smelling rags, the grey and depressingly plain bra and panties, along with the well-worn sneakers and dropped the entire mess into a garbage bag and she summoned housekeeping to dispose of the rubbish in the hotel incinerator. She knew Eve's size and purchased for her a complete and fabulously stylish wardrobe. 

She had walked in with only the clothes on her back and the junk in her bag, which had been unceremoniously dumped into another drawer. Eve hadn't noticed that either. 

_Not very focused, are you? Getting off so many times really scrambled your circuits, huh? Well, get used to it, Eve. I will never allow you to feel ordinary ever again. I am extraordinary and you will be an extraordinary wife._

“Is there a bar in this shithole?” Eve grunted.   
  


“Yes, but why, Eve? I can order us another bottle of champagne.”

Eve whirled and snarled directly into Villanelle’s stunned face, “DON’T YOU FUCKING GET IT? I WANT A GODDAMN DRINK, NOT THIS BUBBLING PISS!” Villanelle’s flight-or-fight survival instincts kicked

in. She began to immediately take stock of how many blunt or sharp objects were within reach if Eve advanced and attacked. 

How did we get here Villanelle wondered in shock. We were SO close and then--this? THIS?   
  


“Sorry, sorry---look, can we just forget the last few minutes. I freaked out. Okay? I’m sorry for freaking out on you like this. _Ugh. God! GOD!_ _  
_

"It’s okay, Eve," she whispered, knowing full well was as far away from okay as it gets, but at this moment she would say pretty much anything to calm Eve down, chill her out and put her in a position where she could put this madwoman down on her knees and on her back, should it come to that. 

Eve grabbed Villanelle by her shoulders and she was taken aback by the sturdiness of her sinewy grasp. Despite the slightness of her frame there was no fat on Eve’s body and she was deceptively strong.

_Another mental note made by Villanelle and tucked away for future reference._

  
“Get dressed. Let’s go!” Eve barked. Smart enough to recognize her lover’s rage, Villanelle compiled without a peep of protest. As soon as she laced up her Doc Martens, Eve was on her way to the door, unlatching latches and unlocking locks. 

“Wait, Eve. This suite has an alarm system and I need to disarm it before you go out th---

  
  
The loud shrill of the security alarm screamed its notification to the world complete with an ear-piercing loud, flashing strobe light that would not stop until Villanelle frantically entered the disarm code. Her voice was calm and even as hotel security rang up, and she willed herself to sound sheepish about the false alarm and so sorry for the trouble. _“Fuccccccckkkkk!,_ ” Villanelle shouted. “Eve! What the hell is wrong with you? Are you trying to get both of our asses thrown out of here? You can’t _do_ that. "

I don’t care! Fuck them! “ Eve shrieked. “I’m leaving! You do what you want.”

A slightly panicked and seriously pissed off Villanelle placed a firm hand on Eve’s shoulder and stopped her where she stood. “Enough! You hear me? **ENOUGH!** What is wrong with you?” She pulled Eve back as she closed the door. 

"We are NOT doing this anymore! We are going to stay right here. Hear me? We stay here and we talk. No more running away. That bullshit solves nothing, so let's stop doing this and fucking TALK, damn it!" 

  
  
Eve’s flaming coal-red eyes blazed furiously for a moment and then the light of sober sanity returned to her. 

“Bill.”

“What? Who? Who is Bill?”

  
  
Bill Pargrave. He was my best friend. He was my best friend, and maybe the only man I loved most in this entire shitty world, and you-- **YOU** stabbed him to death right in front of me with a big fucking smile on your face.”

  
  
Villanelle’s eyes gaped wide in horror. She hadn’t remembered a thing about the middle-aged man with the silly hat (okay, she remembered a little). Eve had never forgotten him. Nor had she completely forgiven her for what she had taken from Eve. 

  
  
“Bill is why I stabbed you. Bill is why instead of allowing you to fuck me, I fucking stabbed your crazy ass. But you made **_me_** crazy too, Oksana. You made me crazy enough to kill.”

Eve was enraged. The murderous look on her face reminded Villanelle when she had last seen it. In her Paris flat with Eve on top of her and pushing a knife in her stomach and she looked like she wanted to repeat the feat. 

_My kills are in the triple figures. Are you seriously blaming me for not remembering one nobody among so many? How rude of you, Eve._

This is what Villanelle thought, but not what she said.

“Bill?” she repeatedly flaty as if she had only learned how to pronounce the name. “That name is familiar to me, but I’m sure exactly why…?”

  
  
_Fuck you, Eve. You can’t intimidate me, but I can certainly intimidate you._

That was what she was thinking right before Eve closed the gap between them and spoke in a flat, emotion-free tone that actually had the effect of discomforting Villanelle if not actually scaring her. 

  
“We need to talk about Bill”. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to end in four chapters, but it started getting good to me, and Eve and Villanelle have some ground to go over, so now it's going to go to six chapters. 
> 
> If that makes you mad, blame **V-for-Villanelle** and the Killing Eve Discord group for talking me into not deleting the whole thing after I got stuck in a chapter I couldn't get out of and inspiring me to not give up, but to go on. 
> 
> That may not be an explanation you were anticipating, but it's the best one I can come up with. Kudos are great and comments are even better. Holla at me on Tumblr and Instagram @wearevillaneve.


	5. Killing Bill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve and Villanelle have "The Talk." One of them is shamed and faces a harsh and pitiless reality they must come to terms with.

**Chapter 5: Killing Bill  
  
  
  
**

**(compensated illustration by dkdraws)**

Lunch arrived and they ate in stony silence. Eve nibbled on the salmon and half of a cupcake. Villanelle’s appetite was heartier. She knew a fight was coming and she wanted to be operating on a full stomach.  
  


Dabbing dainty at her mouth, she wiped the last of the cake crumbs away. Rather than wait for Eve to start, the assassin got the party started, “We talk about what you think I want from you, but what about _you?_ What do you want from _me_ , Eve? Why are you so drawn to me?

Eve paused for a moment and blinked as if only vaguely understanding the question. It was not one she had anticipated and had no rapid-fire retort for.

“I---I--oh, I don’t know,” she said and threw her hands up. “I’m probably the worst person to ask why Eve Polastri even gets up in the morning. I don’t know why I’m still above ground sucking in air and squeezing out farts.” 

Villanelle raised a hand to her mouth to repress a giggle. Eve smiled in response and the weight of the burden on her shoulders lessened a bit. It felt good to laugh. It felt even better to hear Villanelle laugh with her. She always spoiled things by overthinking and overanalyzing things, but here, with her, she could for once live in the moment.

Eve held Villanelle’s hand in both of hers and pressed it against her cheek. It was warm and strong and despite the terrible things she had seen that hand do, she couldn’t help but sink into the comfort she found with just a touch.  
  
Outwardly, the young woman’s face gave away mild curiosity. Inwardly, a voice she recognized as her own smirked triumphantly, _“So not over me…_ ”  
  


“Can’t we go back to bed and pick up where we left off? There’s so many better things we could be doing than this. This is a huge waste of time we could be spending doing something fun.”

Instantly, Eve's eyes narrowed dangerously and Villanelle mentally kicked herself for being hasty. 

“Do not _ever_ disrespect my friend.” Eve in a soft, scary voice. “Do not delude yourself for even one second because I can’t beat you, I won’t fight you, Villanelle.”

The younger woman glared back at the older woman. It was her own impetuous nature coming back to bite her as she had given Eve an opportunity to retreat behind her walls of defense yet again. This was becoming both confounding and annoying.   
  
Was she giving Eve far too much access to her own inner workings too soon. Just as Eve had expressed her own need for independence, Villanelle was not inclined to cede power to anyone having decided not even The Twelve would control her again.  
  
She could end this. End Eve’s life with a flick of the wrist, but since Rome she had learned how to leash, if not necessarily tame her feral side. Knowing to unleash the beast within her had been a struggle, and she had to set it loose upon sworn enemies, not a distraught soulmate. 

Instead of breaking her neck, gouging out her eyes, or tearing off an ear, instead she accepted Eve’s anger. She had to allow Eve her moments of agency and autonomy. This was such a moment and Villanelle would wait her out. 

“I don’t have to beat you to hurt you,” her erstwhile enemy concluded and all the while unaware the only reason Eve was still drawing breath was due to Villanelle showing restraint. She had learned some bitter lessons from the Rome fiasco and not reacting upon every emotional prompt was one of the toughest ones.

She exhaled and twisted open a bottle of Évian before cooly responding, “I understand Eve. I killed your friend and you are still angry at me over it. I get it. What do you want from me? An apology? Teardrops? _Mea culpas_ ? You tell me.”  
  
A frown passed over Eve’s face for a moment and then she blurted out her proposal.   
  
“Compensation. You provide Bill’s widow, Keiko, with a college fund for their baby. Give her some money to buy groceries, whatever medicines she might need and how they are making ends meet...since Bill died.”  
  
“Done.”

Now it was Eve’s turn to be surprised. 

“Wait...what? What do you mean ‘done’? We haven’t even discussed what sort of restitution or how much…”  
  
“I will give Bill’s daughter $250,000 for her college education. Or for her wedding. I don’t care which,” Oksana replied in a disinterested monotone. “Now can we go back to the bedroom and pick up where we left off? I still have plans for you, sweet Eve.”

Eve's jaw dropped, but no words came out until they finally did. 

“Are you serious? You’re so...so blase about this? You’re about to give a baby a shitload of Euros and this is your reaction? THIS???  
  
Villanelle’s gaze became distant and unreachable. It was a look Eve had seen before and it never failed to give her chills. How easily she could go from warm and approachable to cold and distant. The assassin sipped the last of her designer water before replying. 

“What do you want me to do? Cry for your friend? Fall to my knees and beg you for forgiveness? Promise you I’ll never do anything like that ever again?” she said and there was no pity in her voice. “Make up your mind, Eve. Do you want an act of contrition from me or a performance?”  
  
“Oksana, listen to me,” Eve replied. “This is important. Bill was my friend. My best friend, and I-have-fallen-for-the-woman-that-murdered-him. This is fucking with me, okay? This is hard for me. Do you not get it?”  
  
“No. No, I really don’t. I’ve tried to be nice to you. I’ve treated you better this weekend than that schoolteacher has in over a decade. I bathe you. I feed you. I fuck you. I love you, but all you do is take, take, take.”

“This is how I say ‘I’m sorry’ Eve. Do you understand how hard that is for _me_?” 

She wasn’t angry as much as she was disappointed and a little hurt over Eve’s lack of gratitude. She flipped the now empty bottle over her shoulder as it landed in the wastebasket. Villanelle stood up and began closing the curtains in the room.  
  
“Oksana…”

“No, Eve. Don’t speak. Don’t say another fucking word. You’ve said enough. You have said more than enough.”

The sunlight of the morning gave way to the approaching shadows of the autumn afternoon. Eve shifted uncomfortably in her chair until Villanelle broke the silence. She turned around and faced Eve.

“Hey, Eve? What’s the baby’s name?”

Eve cocked her head comically in a way reminiscent of the chicken she and Niko once had, “Uh, her name is...wait...her name is... _ummm_...wait a minute, I’m trying to remember.”

“You don’t know the baby’s name, do you, Eve?” Villanelle replied sadly. “Do you know if it is a boy or a girl?” 

“I can’t remember right now,” the frustrated woman said, running a hand through her raven mane. “Fuck. What _is_ her name? I used to know it.”

Villanelle began to tidy up the remnants of their lunch, “This is a lot of good food going to waste here. I’ll suggest to the concierge that they give the leftovers to a homeless shelter. That will be my good deed of the day.”

“Wait a minute, dammit. I know the name of Bill’s baby. I’m just not remembering right now.”

Villanelle shook her head sadly. “No, you _don’t_ know the baby’s name. You can’t remember what you never knew.”

Eve’s exasperation turned into indignation and she snapped. 

“What the fuck are you talking about? Bill was my friend. I know all about his family. I do”

“Oh, I believe you, Eve. Really I do, but it doesn’t change the fact you don’t know the name of his child. That’s kind of rude of you, don’t you think? What, with you being best buddies and so in love with him.”

She walked over and stood before Eve. 

“You knew what I was like when you began chasing me. You knew I was a killer. This is who I am and this is who I will always be, Eve,” she said. “And here’s something you need to figure out soon: I _like_ who I am. _You’re_ the one who is unhappy. You’re the one who has serious self-esteem issues.”

“I am learning so much from you. You are an extraordinary woman, Eve Polastri. For you I am learning how to be patient and not to give in to my worst instincts all the time,” Villanelle said with a tight smile . “You are making me a different person than I ever thought I could be and sometimes it frightens as much as it excites me.”  
  
“But Eve, don’t ever think you are changing me. You can’t do that and I won’t let you.”

“I am changing _you_ , Eve, and we both know you want me to. Please stop speaking to me as if you are my moral superior. You are not. You are not who you think you are, but I know exactly who and what you are.”  
  
“What--what am I, Oksana?” Eve said in a hoarse whisper.

Villanelle’s smile turned positively predatory.   
  
“You are a killer. Same as I am. You are a psychopath, Eve. Same as I am. I see you and I see the darkness in you. Killing Raymond didn’t bother you that much. Yes, you are drinking too much and you live like a homeless person and you eat junk, but you aren’t trying to repent for what you did. You don’t sleep all that soundly, but you aren’t having nightmares about taking an axe to Raymond’s skull and watching chunks of his brain splattering the walls. “  
  


Villanelle squatted down until she was eye level with Eve then tilted her chin up. “Look at me.”

Eve stared into the cold green grey eyes of this beautiful, terrible, twisted fantasy woman. She wanted to avert her eyes, flee from the judgement she saw there, but escape was impossible.   
  


“When I asked you if you wanted to watch what I did to The Ghost to make her talk, you didn’t reply. But you wanted to and you hated yourself for it. You watched me kill and you’ve seen what I leave behind and whether it was a creepy, controlling pervert like Julian and Aaron or the corpse of a scarred and suicidal teenage boy, you looked at what I did and you didn’t care. “

“If anything it only made you want me more. Right, Eve?”  
  


Eve’s mind was now reeling. Was the room spinning? She felt light-headed. Almost weightless and if she hadn't had a grasp on the edge of a table, a strong breeze would blow her away. Eve felt the weight of each body Villanelle had piled at her feet like a shrine lifted upon her slim shoulders and it was a crushing, heavy burden. 

“Facing one’s true self after lying it existed at all is not a pleasant experience, is it, Eve? Ever since you fell for me you held on to one thing to make you believe you were not the same as I; ‘I’m a good person doing a bad thing. I’m not a bad person doing what I want.’ ”  
  
“You are that bad person, Eve. Here’s the proof: here you are where you should not be and doing things you should not do, but you don’t want to be anywhere else. Because you love me and you want me just as much as I want you.”  
  
 _Why can’t I get up? Why can’t I run? Why can’t I move?_ Villanelle had tried love and affection, food and drink, sex and affection. Those games were over. Now it was time for the cold, merciless truth. 

“You want everything I offer. But only so long as you can call yourself a good person.”

Villanelle leaned forward and pressed her lips firmly against Eve’s. It was a loveless and joyless kiss.

“You are not. You are the same as I am. We both know it, but only one of us is honest enough to admit it.”

Villanelle straightened and pivoted to the bedroom door before turning and staring back at a silent and shamed Eve.

“I am returning to the room. Tonight is our last evening together. I am afraid my employers are somewhat annoyed I did not come back when they expected me to. If I make them wait much longer they will be less annoyed and extremely angry, and that would not be a good thing for either of us.”  
  


“Why would that be bad for me?”  
  


“I told them I killed you, and I thought I had until crafty Konstantin showed up in Barcelona to inform me that I had not,” she said with a nonchalant shrug. “I am on the verge of becoming a Keeper and it would be unfavorable for my chances should The Twelve believe I am disloyal to them.”

“And are you, Oksana?” Eve whispered hoarsely. “Do you really want to become a Keeper and work for The Twelve.” 

“Of course I don’t, Eve. I simply need more information of who these bastards are and this is how I get it. Once I know the names of The Twelve, I’m going to kill them. One-at-a-time or all at once, I don’t care. I just want them dead and out of our lives.”

“You said ‘our’ lives?”

“Yes, I did, but that now depends on you and what decisions you make tonight, Eve. After that, I will worry only about my life and you can do whatever the hell you want with yours..”

The sound of the door being flung open and then slammed shut went off like a thunderclap in the darkening room, but Eve didn’t react. She stared down at her hands. The hands she once had scrubbed raw to get Villanelle’s blood off them after stabbing her in Paris. The hands she had raised an axe above her head before turning a man’s head into chunks of red meat. 

Eve walked to the door and knocked lightly, “Oksana, may I come in?”

“It’s not locked. Come in if you want,” came the voice from the other side. 

Eve walked up to Villanelle and kissed her once, twice and a third time, with the last kiss being a really good kiss. The kind that lights up rooms and leads to long nights of hot bodies and damp sheets entangled together. Villanelle allowed the kiss, but she remained stone-faced.

Eve knew she had to fix this. They had unloaded most of their ugly baggage, but there was one more piece to be tossed on the pile. 

“THEY think you’re nothing but a merciless killer. You are a killer, but it hasn’t made you a monster and I think you’re the only person in the world who can prevent me from becoming one,” Eve said. “I’m sorry for what I said to you. You’re right. I have no right to lecture anyone about what’s right and what’s wrong.”

The apology helped.... _a little_ , but Villanelle wasn’t ready to forgive and forget. She needed to extract another pound or two of Eve’s sweet flesh first. 

  
  


“What is this? Are you still trying to save me, Eve? Do you want to redeem me?”  
  
  
If Eve was intimidated by the sternness of Villanelle's voice, she gave no outward sign of being perturbed. She smiled and replied, “Nah. I got you to acknowledge Bill’s significance to me, even if he is insignificant to you, I won’t ask any more from you than what you have offered. Saving you is not on my immediate ‘to-do’ list.” Eve’s hand moved to Villanelle’s face just as it had in her stupid kitchen when she was sent to kill her. 

Just a touch from Eve was all it took to calm the assassin’s turbulent soul. She was still angry at Eve’s arrogant assertion of a moral superiority she didn’t possess, but she had made a step toward Eve to reconcile over killing Bill. Extracting an actual apology from her was progress. 

  
  
Progress should be celebrated. She softened and relented. 

  
“My immediate ‘to-do” is to get you back in that bed and fuck your brains out.”

“Challenge accepted. I do hope you rested well. You are about to get a workout.”

“Talk is cheap, Villanelle,” she grinned evilly. “Put your money where your mouth is.”

Such a dumb saying. _Fuck money!_ She was going to put her mouth where it did the most good. 

  
  
  


**(compensated illustration by dkdraws)**

  
  
In the afterglow as the last minutes of daylight ticked away and dusk began to approach, two nude women stood side-by-side and gazed out the window. Streetlights began to flicker on as the traffic outside began to thin out.

This time Villanelle broke the silence. 

“I have to get back to Barcelona tomorrow,” she sighed. “I don’t want to go back, but I have to. We need more information before we can even think of taking this further. But this...this was really nice, Eve.” 

“Yeah. Now let me ask you a question. How many assassins like you work for The Twelve? Do they have a secret base or something under a live volcano or something like out of James Bond?”

  
  
Villanelle's laugh was loud and raucous. It was also full of sarcastic dismissiveness. 

“James Bond is a cartoon, and there _are_ no assassins like me working for The Twelve Most of them are young. Maybe in their teens and by the time they turn 30 they are dead, burned out or have moved up to become Handlers like Konstantin or Dasha who train others like them to become assassins. A few have potential, but most of them don't have the talent or skills to be as exceptional as I am.”

Eve chewed her lip and processed the information.

“So, the entire structure of The Twelve could be a hundred or so trained killers and crews of goons to provide muscle like those apes in Rome? 

“Yeah, I guess so. I’m sure the higher up I go, the better the chances get I can find out the actual numbers,” she patted Eve on the butt. “Why? What are you thinking, baby?”

Eve smiled and said, “I was thinking maybe we should just kill them all.”

  
“What if I’m wrong and they do have a small army standing by and waiting for orders to find us and kill us?”

“A small army of killer kids and mercenaries doesn’t frighten me as much as a lone wolf like you who is willing to take orders but interprets them in ways where you carry out your kills with a certain flair that suits you,” Eve looked thoughtful.

  
“I try. Thank you for noticing, Agent Polastri,” the blonde replied and this time she came up behind Eve and squeezed both her breasts, “Beep-Beep! Move over! Detective Hercule Polastri coming through!”  
  


“Dick!” Eve snarled and tried to slap Villanelle’s hands away, but instead she found herself lifted bodily and pushed face first into the bed as Villanelle mounted her from behind and began grinding herself into the older woman’s ass.

  
  
“ _Uhhhh_...is it playtime again?” mumbled Eve.

“It’s always playtime when you’re here with me, Eve. You’d better start getting used to the idea that you’re going to be spending a lot in bed with me. Or in the kitchen with me, or on the floor with me, or in the tub with me, or up against the wall with me, but mostly with me.”

“If we run, how long until they find us. What do we do when that happens?”

“I shoot them and you keep loading my guns,” Villanelle shrugged. “Then once we’ve killed them all we go off and buy a house in America with a white picket fence.”  
  


“If we stay and we’re apart, we might live. Not happily, but we’d be alive. If we stay and we’re together, they will come for us and kill one or both of us.”

“Right.”

Eve bit her lip again and pondered. 

“Is there anywhere we can go together where we will be safe, Villanelle. Anywhere at all, in Europe that they can’t find us?

  
Villanelle rolled on her back and stared at the ceiling for a moment and thought about it before responding.  
  


“No. Either we leave Europe or we die here. This is The Twelve’s power base. Maybe in South or North America we’d have a chance to escape them, but _here_? Forget it. They’ll hunt us down and laugh at our dying screams.” 

Silence fell on the room. Eve broke it this time. 

“I don’t want to go to Peru or Oklahoma. I don’t want to go to Montreal or Mississippi. Fuck that. I’d rather stay here and fight.” 

“You want to fight an army Eve? Looks like I’m not the only psychopath in the room.”  
  


“Oh, I don’t want to fight soldiers. I want to kill generals, Eve grinned broadly. “We find out who The Twelve are. Then we find them and kill them. Soldiers fight the wars, but it's the generals who start them."

“We t ake out the generals and watch the soldiers scatter.”  
  


Villanelle pondered this for a moment and then she matched Eve’s brilliant grin with one of her own. This could be fun.   
  


“Sure, why not? Sounds like a plan, baby. Let’s just kill the bastards.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one mo' chapter to go. 
> 
> It'll end in tears. 
> 
> Special thanks to **v-for-villanelle** for edits, energy and encouragement


	6. Interludes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's check-out time for Villanelle and Eve as they attempt to put in motion their plans to take down The Twelve once and for all. However, they have made the mistake of overestimating their capabilities and underestimating how ruthless The Twelve is when it comes to protecting themselves from treacherous assassins, even one in their own employ.
> 
> Villanelle learns this to her sorrow, but it may be her final lesson as she finds herself outnumbered and hunted with no resources, no reinforcements and seemingly no escape. Multiple foes have set their sights on the fleeing assassin and are determined to take her down. 
> 
> Unless Eve can find a way out for Villanelle, but is it already too late?

(authorized illustration by Polastrikova) 

**LONDON** \- Their last night together lingers in Villanelle’s mind as much as Eve’s taste lingers on her lips. 

It was interesting. It was intense. It was fun. And oh, so very much worth the ungodly wait. Eve had been everything she had fantasized she would be. Withdrawn and shy at first and a slavering sex maniac by the time it all came to its inevitable conclusion. 

In fact, it had been so good, Villanelle hadn’t had sex with anyone since. Naturally, there were numerous applicants for the job of taking her to bed and making her feel something more than the exertion that comes from reasonably hard exercise. Women and men (but mostly women) would buy her drinks, take her to dinner, buy her nice things, and end up sleeping cold and alone because Villanelle wasn’t interested in anything more than the momentary amusements they could provide her.. 

She was only fucking _with_ these fools. She wasn’t going to actually _fuck_ them too.

  
On their last morning together at The Lanesborough, Eve was wandering around the room fussing and fretting she had forgotten _something_. Oksana had already packed both their bags and was confident nothing had fallen under the bed or rolled under the furniture, but watching this crazy woman worrying over nothing was exhausting.

“What are you looking for, Eve?” she asked sweetly, crossing one leg over the other. “I told you already I checked all your pockets in those filthy rags you wore when you walked in here before I threw them out. There’s nothing missing.”

No response. Eve was digging between the couch cushions now. She stopped, cursed, and raked her hands through her hair.

Villanelle stood and walked up behind Eve then wrapped her arms around the frantic woman’s waist. 

“Stop. I know when you’re upset,” she said softly. “What’s wrong, baby?”

Eve stiffened before she turned to face the taller woman. Her eyes were red, wet and shiny with tears.

“I don’t want to leave you!” she shouted, and as her face crumbled, Villanelle dropped her facade of aloofness. After all they had been through there was no more need for the distance that pretense provided. 

With surprising gentleness, she pulled Eve close to her bosom and stroked her hair. “I don’t want you to leave either, but I only paid for so many nights, baby. We _have_ to go.” 

“Ugh. I hate crying like this,” the shorter woman sniffled even as she burrowed into the warmth of Villanelle's cleavage. 

“Then don’t. Focus on what you have to do for us to be together and I’ll focus on my part.” Eve nodded affirmatively and flashed a thumbs-up. 

  
  
“Good. Oh, and thank you for reminding me.” she fished into her pants pocket and handed Eve a phone and then a SIM card. “It’s charged and ready to go. Keep it that way, but don’t use it unless it is an emergency.”

Eve stared at the cheap phone, and smiled. “Not exactly your style, sweetie. The Twelve cutting back on expenses or something?”

“Ha-ha. As a comedian you make a great secret agent, Eve. This is for when all the shit hits the fans as you Americans say.” she said and held up an identical phone of her own. “ It’s certain that my regular phone is tapped. This will not be.”

“Okay, but you know any phone can be traced within minutes, right?” Eve replied with all seriousness until Villanelle snorted sarcastically.

"Wrong again, Miss Super-Spy. You are missing the point. I know The Twelve is going to hear anything I say or read any message I receive on _this_ phone," she explained holding up a new iPhone. "Let them! Anything life-or-death we need to say to each other, we will say on _this_ cheap piece of crap, and they can try to pluck that one call out of millions made at the same time. By the time they do we will either be safe or dead."

Almost on cue, a text message buzzed in on Villanelle's phone. It was from Dasha: _"You'd better be back here by this afternoon. I'm putting my ass on the line here for you!"_

Eve peeked over Villanelle's arm and asked, "Huh. Pushy, much? Who's that from?" 

Villanelle muttered up her breath and deleted the message before responding. "Nobody important. Let's go. Our rides are here. I'm calling the front desk to send a porter up for our bags. Are you sure you can carry yours into your apartment?"

Now it was Eve's turn to snort. "I'm stronger than I look, Villanelle." 

"Don't I know it. My ass is still sore from you jumping up and down on me all weekend."

The two women shared a laugh, squeezed each other tightly and kissed each other briefly. 

"Just take care of yourself, Villanelle. You're the one walking back into this snake pit. Don't take unnecessary chances and come back to me," Eve pleaded.

"I will, baby. Nothing can come between us. You hear me? _Nothing._ " 

They gathered their gear and holding hands, they walked out of the room together. 

**END INTERLUDE ONE**

**ROME-** The symphony of noise and swirl of movement in the Campo de' Fiori market did not intrude upon her thoughts. She was back in Rome and she wasn’t the least bit happy about it. There were memories here still too fresh and much too raw. 

She had killed Eve here. Not well though and not for long, but that act of sloppiness had turned out to be an undeserved blessing. Now she lived for Eve. 

  
  
She is waiting. She _hates_ waiting. Why can’t people be where they say they are going to be when they say it? Rude. 

Villanelle is nervous.

It’s a sensation she’s rarely experienced. It’s such a lame and pedestrian response to the unknown. It is a feeling for normal, boring people, and being Villanelle means she is not normal and never boring. However, this is a different Villanelle in a different time and sitting here now in this café as her cappuccino grows cold, she wants nothing more to get her business concluded and then hope she never steps foot in this damn country again.  
  


This is Italy. She used to love Italy. One of her most flamboyant kills was here. She stabbed Cesare Greco, an old Mafia don with great taste in linens and no respect for personal space.

She had enjoyed watching his life fade away. It gave her an immense surge of pride and not an undue amount of pleasure to murder someone so powerful, so dangerous and so feared. In the end, Senor Greco was no harder to kill than any random stranger on the street. 

Upon further review, gazing deep in his slowly dying eyes did make a little shiver go down her spine. In the same way the last time she had laid down beside Eve had thrilled her in such a profound manner.

Eve. Oh, Eve. She found herself missing the erstwhile MI6 agent with the amazing hair. Odd how it made her feel both cold _and_ warm. Irritably, she glanced down at her Cartier wristwatch. 

  
  
_He’s late, dammit._ _I’m going to skin him alive! Right after he gives me my new passport and papers. I need to get out of this fucking mausoleum of a city._  
  


Something unusual was going on. She had been facing a lot of odd attackers over the past few weeks. She had killed two GRU operatives, murdered one MI6 operative and emasculated an ex-CIA agent, a nosy Interpol investigator and two ill-dressed buffoons who didn’t seem like typical agents of The Twelve. Violence didn't bother her, but this was a lot. They had attacked her while she was lounging in a Brussels swimming pool, a Portugal hotel, and other places. She had put them down like the trash they were. 

Killing them had been messy. Disposing of their carcasses even more so. She despised having to dismember body parts when she hadn’t brought along the proper clothes for the job. Gone was one Tom Cole and a Jimmy Choo ensemble she’d never wear again. 

Such a fucking waste! Money was growing too tight to afford a suitably fashionable replacement and buying something off the rack was too horrific a thought to seriously give any consideration to. Her finances had taken a sizable dip after The Twelve cut off her salary following the killings of Dasha and that meddlesome Rhian.

_Interrupt my dance with, Eve, will you? Call me a ‘little sheep,’ will you? Doing away with Dasha was necessary to her plan to go disappear to Cuba with Konstantin and Irina, but when Eve appeared at the train station, she immediately revised it to exclude her old handler and include her new lover_. 

Preoccupied in her musings Villanelle failed to notice the hitman approaching on her left.

But only for a minute. [ The Kimber Micro 9 CDP 9mm pistol ](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/Q0RmJHXZdyQ/maxresdefault.jpg) wasn’t designed for a firefight, but then Villanelle had no intention to engage in one. She inhaled one long and deep cleansing breath. Held it. Shut her eyes. Found her target.

Then she got down to the business of killing. 

Villanelle tossed the chair aside, dropped to a crouch and wheeled around to drop the assassin moving up behind her, found her kill spot, and exhaled as she squeezed the trigger. 

The bullet landed precisely where she had intended. Right between the eyes of the tall, swarthy man in a poorly-tailored Italian suit. He thought he was quicker than Villanelle. Now he was just a deader who had forgotten his place. 

The babbling tourists and local sheep in the plaza screamed/yelled/panicked/ran like the rabble they were. Villanelle ignored them. She could be standing directly face-to-face with one of these cowards and they would be so terrified they couldn’t describe if she was blonde, brunette or bald. 

Villanelle’s grin was wolfish. _Still got it. I’m still kind of a big deal in this business._ Frankly, she didn’t care how many of these thugs of The Twelve she had to kill before their bosses got the point that she wasn’t the assassin they should attempt to retire. She was the assassin they all should fear. 

The angry bark of a large caliber gun cut through the screams of the panicked mob. Villanelle corkscrewed on her feet to face a bald, flabby, sweaty man rushing toward her firing indiscriminately. A wild shot went wide of the mark, passed through the back of a fleeing Japanese tourist, burst through his right lung in a crimson rainbow of gore, as he toppled face first onto the cobblestone streets, stone cold dead before his head crunched sickly into the pitiless pavement. 

_How rude. Villanelle didn’t care about killing an innocent bystander, but she found the unnecessary noise and chaos caused by these clumsy dunces to be incredibly aggravating in their unprofessionalism._

The sweaty fat man utilized the crowd as a shield to rush toward Villanelle with a speed belied by his size. Desperation must provide a boost to the hopelessly over matched, she mused as she backed away and dropped to a low crouch.

She fingered the ballistic knife strapped to her left ankle, snapped it free from its sheath, and waited. With practiced precision she gauged the angle, aimed carefully and waited for the exact moment and the perfect spot to unleash Hell.

  
  
**< SNIKT!>**

The blade flew unerringly through the air toward the wannabe assassin’s abdomen and began to wreak its terrible toll shredding his digestive tract, stomach and intestines. Her delicate nose was offended by the stink of his body part spilling into the cobblestones. 

_“Die!_ " she whispered, closed in on the screaming man, grasped the knife and slowly dragged it horizontally. He was long dead before he dropped face first to the ground breaking his nose and spurting blood over Villanelle’s slacks. 

_“Oh, merda!”_ she groaned in disgust, _“Solo la mia fottuta fortuna!”_ (Oh, shit! Just my fucking luck!) Forgetting the fumbled assassination attempt, she noticed an unopened water bottle on the ground and reached for it with every intention of trying to clean the stain from her clothes before they could set.

The ricochet of a bullet that would have hit her dead solid perfect in the back, had she not moved aside, missed its mark and struck a fleeing flower peddler between the eyes, killing him instantly. Villanelle glanced over her shoulder to see a second attacker rushing toward her. This one was both younger and faster, but his aim was no better than his older and now deceased partner. 

_“Fottuta puttana! Ti ucciderò, cazzo!_ ” the man spat out, his swarthy, sweating face was twisted in an rictus of rage. _“Questa volta non te ne vai!”_

  
  
(You fucking whore. I'm going to fucking kill you. This time you don’t get away!)

Villanelle grinned and squeezed off another round from the Kimber, this one sliced through the meat of his right thigh. Painful, but not fatal. Villanelle decided she wanted to ask this one some questions. 

His scream was high and shrill. She put a second round in his left shoulder to give him something else to scream about even higher and shriller. 

He fell to his knees as Villanelle walked over to him, pistol whipped him across his face and finished with a hard kick in the nuts. Now he finally shut up as he curled up in the fetal position rocking, cradling his aching balls, crying and whimpering.

This isn’t how a Twelve assassin reacts, Villanelle mused as she grabbed the blubbering hitman by the chin. His eyes stared wildly as she berated him. 

  
  
“ _Zitto stupido! Avrei potuto ucciderti dove stavi. Dovresti ringraziarmi!”_ She snarled and spat on the ground. _“Siete idioti il meglio che i Dodici devono lanciarmi contro?”_ _  
__  
_

_(_ Shut up, stupid! I could have killed you where you stood. You should thank me! Are you idiots the best The Twelve have to throw at me?)

The wailing of the approaching sirens interrupted her contemptuous taunts. There were still too many people around, and she couldn’t be certain she had taken all of them out. There might be more waiting for her to drop her guard. She had taken three different taxis to get to the Campo de' Fiori and didn’t feel much like running away. 

Perhaps this fool might serve some useful purpose before she killed him?

_“Dov'è la tua macchina e non_ **_PENSARE_ ** _nemmeno a mentirmi!”_ she barked and poked the gun barrel in the shoulder wound just to make the point crystal clear.  
  


(Where is your car and don't even **THINK** about lying to me!)

  
  
Sniveling, the man gestured towards his right pants pocket and Villanelle rewarded him with a pretty smile and then mussed up his hair. 

_“Vedere?. “Le cose possono essere molto più piacevoli quando mi dai le risposte giuste.”_ she replied. _“Lei parla inglese?”_

  
  
(See? Things can be so much more pleasant when you give me the right answers. Do you speak English?)  
  


“Sì,” he said, but noticing how quickly Villanelle’s smile immediately became a thin, tight line, he followed up and shouted, “No! I mean, _yes_ ! Yes, I speak English.”  
  


“Better and better. Where’s the car parked?”

“Behind that building over there,” he screeched and pointed to a restaurant that was locking its doors as the staff and diners cowered inside. He extended the keys toward her and she looked quizzically as if he had just handed her a live python.

“Oh no, little killer. I’m not driving YOU. You’re driving ME. Move your ass and don’t you dare bleed on me.”

He stared goggle-eyed at her for only a moment and looked for a pity that was not there. He knew he was dead, but quickly decided cooperation with her might prolong his life by a few more minutes. Precious minutes where he might be able to throw himself on her mercy and buy himself vital moments of life. 

Villanelle allowed him this illusion. She knew this would end much differently than this idiot hoped it might. He hobbled to the car as she loped behind with the gun never wavering from his vital, vulnerable body parts. 

He was a dead man. This was a certainty, but not until Villanelle had satisfactory answers to her many questions. 

**END INTERLUDE TWO**

**London -** It had been another dull day at The Bitter Pill as Eve ran down the steps. She had taken a job there as a copy editor, checking for spelling and factual errors in the stories turned in by staffers and freelancers. It wasn't interesting and the politics of the contributors were much further to the Left than her own were, but some of it was pretty well-written. She had moved back into her apartment and was trying hard to keep it looking as relatively neat and clean as the maintenance crew Villanelle had sent to sanitize it. 

Eve hated housework, but she was willing to make the effort in case Villanelle showed up out of the blue one day. Months had passed since that magical weekend in The Lanesborough and life had gone on. Carolyn wasn't interested in whatever Villanelle was up to since that terrible night at Paul's house where she had blown his brains out and allowed Konstantin to walk away with his miserable life. There was no freedom for her and Villanelle in Cuba or anywhere else. 

Even worse, in the last phone call Carolyn taken from Eve before she had gone totally silent, she had informed her that Villanelle was a free agent. Whoever this mysterious Hélène was, apparently she was high enough in The Twelve to have cut Villanelle loose in retaliation for Dasha's death (a sweet memory for Eve which brought a satisfied smirk to her lips). Before they parted ways on the bridge Villanelle had informed her that she had killed Hélène's protege in retaliation for killing Carolyn's aide and bodyguard, Mo Jafari.

"Isn't that reason enough for you to help Villanelle? Maybe hire her to work for MI6 again?" Eve had pleaded trying to appeal to Carolyn's sense of gratitude. At least until Carolyn reminded her she had no gratitude.

"Don't be ridiculous, Eve. One assassin killing another assassin doesn't make them worthy of working for me," Carolyn replied dryly. Then she hung up. Later Eve would find Carolyn had blocked her phone and banned her from MI6's Vauxhall Cross headquarters. She was on her own and that meant so was Villanelle. She hadn't tried to reach out to her yet, but she was growing increasingly frustrated and frantic. 

Eve was long on questions and short on answers. She also had no husband or home. She was barely making enough from The Bitter Pill to keep a roof over her head. Jaime had finally taken the hint that she wasn't interested in him as anything but a work friend and thankfully he had backed off. She needed the job. Even this shit job.

Niko? He was long gone. He had sued for divorce and she hadn't made any attempt to fight it. For unknown reasons Eve was wearing both Niko's last name as well his cheap wedding ring. She was probably supposed to move it to another finger or just hock the damn thing for whatever little money she might get from it. Life was shit and hers was circling the toilet. 

Two things happened at the same time. The first was a call from Bear. 

"Hi, Bear. I'm on the bus on my way home. What's up?"

"Hey, Eve. Do you think you can come back to the office?"

"Uh... _when_?" 

"Now?" he pleaded. "Right now. I need to show you something. It's big. It's _REAL_ big. I swear I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't important," the big redhead mumbled. "I don't know what I should do. Jaime's already gone for the day or I'd ask him. This is too much for me to decide what to do with it. Please, Eve?"

Eve sighed. She had a full night ahead of her. Soaking in glasses of cheap red wine. Scarfing down some microwaved crap. Masturbating furiously until she came or fell asleep; whichever happened first.

"Okay, okay. I'll get off at the next stop. I can walk back to the office from there, but you're going to have to drive me home, y'hear?"

"Deal. I'll even buy you a pizza," he said. In his voice, Eve could hear his obvious relief. Bear was a nice enough guy, but he was incapable of making a decision. Though he wasn't a wizard on Kenny's level, he knew his way around technology. Like poor, sweet Kenny, if he said he had something worth her time, it probably was. She rang the buzzer for the next stop, slipped off the bus and began running back to the office, typing as she picked up the pace, her long, dark hair flapping behind her as she picked up speed.

**END INTERLUDE THREE.**

**Rome-** “No...no... _ **no**_.” Villanelle moaned and threw open the passenger door to double over and vomit her breakfast into the grass. 

The Audi was parked in a rest area ten miles outside of Rome before she had instructed her reluctant chauffeur to pull off the main road. It was placid and scenic area, but getting closer to Mother Nature's flora and fauna motivated Villanelle less than a finding a unoccupied place to dispose of a body. 

First things first. She had no patience for puzzles and no time for lies, so as soon as the man turned off the ignition, she cracked him with the gun butt on the bridge of his nose, breaking it as geyser of crimson splattered on the steering wheel, windshield and all over his white shirt.

  
  
“Don’t start crying yet,” she sneered at his whines of pain. “Get out of the damn car. You’re bleeding all over the seat.” She aimed the gun at his head and motioned him to hobble over to a tree stump where he sat down with a resigned plop. 

“Look, we both know how this is going to end,” she said in a placid tone, as if she was a kindly teacher lecturing an unruly student. “The only question is how much agony are you willing to endure before the inevitable. You can die like a man on your feet or like a coward on your knees.. Your choice.”  
  
Between the agony of his wounds and the faint hope with more time he might be able to negotiate a better deal, he nodded in the affirmative.

“Okay. What do you want to know?”

“Who do you work for in The Twelve?” she had demanded, “What is your Keeper's name?” She backed off for a moment to catch her breath as well to give the hapless hitman a moment to consider if lying to her was a smarter move than telling her the truth.

He gambled on honesty and replied, “The Twelve? My Keeper? What’s that? I don’t know what that is.”  
  


In a blur of motion, Villanelle savagely pistol-whipped the man several times about the head and ears as he howled in painful protest. 

“Fuck you!’” he screamed. “Fucking _puttana!_ You can kill me, but it won’t help you, Oksana Astankova!”

  
  
Now her eyes widened with genuine shocked surprise. “What? _What_ did you call me?”  
  


The man grinned before replying, “Oh yes, we know who you _really_ are, I am a soldier in the family of Cesare Greco,” and with a few short words, Villanelle knew life as she had known it had changed irrevocably. 

She had it all wrong. It wasn’t The Twelve blundering about trying to take her out. It was La Costra Nostra. It was the Mafia. 

  
  
An icy chill creeped down Villanelle’s back and she shivered. She never gave thought to the hundreds of ghosts she had created, but she was being haunted by one of them now and his dead grasp was reaching out for her sweet white throat. 

  
Somewhere in Sicily the worms were dining well and growing fat on Cesare Greco’s corpse as it moulded away deep within the bowels of the Earth, but somehow through his blackened and rotten teeth he bolted upright, laughed humorlessly and tittered, _“Vendetta! Conoscerai la mia vendetta, puttana!”_. 

(Vengeance! You will know my revenge, you bitch!)

She raised the pistol, pressed it directly against his forehead and squeezed the trigger. He dropped like a sack of potatoes on the ground. Furiously, she spat directly into his dead eyes and screeched, _“Fottuto bastardo!”_  
  
(Fucking bastard!) She paced back and forth and pondered her sorry state. 

  
It had been the mob who were hunting her and the only reason she had survived this long was all they knew what her name was. They didn’t know what she was capable of. A part of her wanted to confront them and show them she was not someone to be trifled with. But that part was a small and stupid part and Villanelle knew better to submit to her rage. 

  
  
Who knew how long the tentacles of the Grecos extended or who might be working for them? It could be anyone from the first cop to stop her for a supposed traffic violation to the next concierge in the hotel she checked into. Here on Italian soil the Grecos were an irresistible force to be reckoned with and at the moment she felt like a very movable object. She was being pursued by gangsters, not a secret terror organization and now she was stuck in their country with no money, no passports, nobody to watch her back.

She was alone. Truly alone. And thoroughly fucked. 

Villanelle was no longer invisible. The Twelve had made her an electronic ghost. No camera saw her and no phone snapped pictures of her and no witness identified her. Those cameras were down for service and those phone cameras blocked and those witnesses had all gone deaf, dumb, blind or missing. 

She could act decisively, move with security, and kill efficiently. Then go shopping as free as the breeze. That was over. The Twelve had left her naked and exposed. Now all of her enemies could find her and finish the job. 

Her face and form and name would show up in databases and videos and drones and closed circuit television screens, and soon enough in Google searches. Today, it was these Mafia clowns, but the GRU in Russia and The _Bundesnachrichtendienst_ (Federal Intelligence Service of Germany), Interpol, the CIA, the _Direction Générale de la Sécurité Extérieure_ (DGSE) of France, and other intelligence agencies would soon enough know who Villanelle was. They would go back and look at the unsolved murders of prominent figures that had occurred on their soil and connect her to them. 

Aaron Peel and many of the corporate heads, business leaders, or prominent politicians she had slain over the years had hired their own private security teams to protect them from someone like her. She had skillfully eluded their defenses and slain their clients making them look like careless idiots. They too would be eager to avenge their dead patrons if only to burnish their tarnished reputations. 

Villanelle shuddered to think how many guns might be pointed at her pretty head waiting for the moment she stepped into the crosshairs and blew her brains out. She had killed so many people and some of them, even in death had a long reach. 

How was she going to get out of this? If only Carolyn Martens not dismissed her so cavalierly when she offered her services to MI6 a few months ago! She would be able to provide her with a safe harbor even in this current predicament. 

Standing outside of the dead man's car her thoughts were interrupted by the unfamiliar ringing of a phone. It wasn't his. She had plucked it from his pocket and tossed it out the window miles ago and it definitely wasn't her regular phone either. The ring tone was a crappy standard one she would have never used. Villanelle was momentarily confused before she realized it was the burner phone buried in her handbag. 

_It was the emergency phone. Eve was calling!_

Villanelle flung open the backdoor of the Audi and pawed to the bottom of the bag. She had missed the phone call and there was no voice mail. 

"Fuck!" she yelled. She tapped on the Contacts list for the one number she had stored, but before she could call, a text message popped up.

**“You are burnt. Run. Verona. Tonight. “**

_Verona?_ What was happening there? It was a 505 kilometer drive from Rome to Verona. And the afternoon was slipping away into dusk. She also realized how hungry she was. Killing always enhanced her appetites, both culinary and sexually. 

Frantically, Villanelle speed-dialed Eve’s number. She picked up on the second ring. 

_Baby, you shouldn’t be calling me. It’s not safe._

The sound of Eve’s deep tones sent a surge of warmth flooding through the distraught, disheveled assassin.

“Nothing is safe for us, Eve, but I don’t care.” she replied. “I don’t care. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

  
_Oh, baby. You don’t know how happy it makes me to hear yours as well! It’ll be even better when I can see you too. I’ve missed you so much._

Oksana. Not Villanelle. It angered her when Dasha had called her by her given name. She had no right to take such liberties. Eve had earned the right, but now was not the time for sentiment. 

“What’s happening? Why did you send me that text? Where are you anyway?

_No questions, darling. There's no time for that now. You know you’re being hunted, right? Well, if you want to get out of this alive and see me again, just do as I say and do it right now._

Villanelle wasn’t accustomed to taking orders from Eve, but somehow when she gave them in that deep, husky voice of hers, she found she didn’t mind all that much.

“You know I’d like to fuck you right here and now, right?”

Eve laughed for a few seconds, but then returned to business. This must be serious, Villanelle thought. 

_You talk a big game, but you don’t have time for verbal foreplay now. Do you have a car?_

Glancing over at the Audi she sighed over the bloody handprints the hitman had left on the door as well as the blood he had leaked over the interior. She would have to clean it up as best she could and hope the gas tank was full. She was nearly broke and would have to go through the dead man’s pockets to find some Euros. 

“Yeah.”  
  


_Then get your ass to Verona. From Rome it’s going to take you more than four hours to get there._

“I’ll make it in three,” Villanelle laughed, “When I get there where am I going? Will you be there?”

There was a noticeable pause and then Eve broke the silence.

_No. No, I won’t but I wish to God I was. Go to Juliet’s Balcony. You’ll be met there. I love you. Hurry!_

The phone went dead before Villanelle could ask for the name of the Romeo she was meeting at Juliet’s Balcony. Or before the call could be traced

Smart woman. Eve was getting better at this game. 

“She said she loved me.” Villanelle whispered aloud. It seemed to her feverish mind that acknowledging such a momentous event out loud made it more real. 

Once she had a mission to fulfill, Villanelle defaulted to her training. Narrow your focus. Determine what is the best means to successfully complete the task because failure was not an option. Move with purpose and do not be distracted by other concerns of the mind, body or soul. Find your target and do not miss the mark. Adapt and Accomplish.  
  


_Get the job done._

As she turned the pockets of the dead hitman inside out and pulled Euros from his wallet, her mind was peaceful and placid as the woods she dragged his corpse deeper into. Oksana had briefly stuck her head out from under the covers where she cowered. Eve had a way to bring that softer side of her out, but Villanelle was back now and running the show. 

There was a time and a place for Oksana. Maybe when she and Eve were together again and not constantly looking over their shoulders, it would be safe to allow Oksana out to be with the woman who she had surrendered her heart to. 

This was not that time and this definitely was not the place. This was where Villanelle had to be driving the car. The car that was melting miles as it sped off to Verona.

Nothing would stop her from getting to Eve and nobody should try to. Villanelle didn’t like killing as much as she once had. What had happened in Russia with her mother had sucked the joy away from the art of murder. Possibly forever.

  
  
It didn’t mean she had forgotten how to. 

  
  


**END INTERLUDE FOUR**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter and coming soon than a month. Promise.


	7. Beautiful and Damned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was _supposed_ to be done by December. Then someone vitally important to me required surgery and had some complications and other stuff just fell by the wayside. Like this chapter.
> 
> It's here now and it definitely wraps up next Monday (because it's already written and done).
> 
> Thanks for the patience and reading it in the first place.

_(commissioned illustration by Tess Bourbeau_ )

**Rain Must Fall**

  
  
  


**London (12 hours before Eve’s call to Villanelle)** Nothing was more tedious about Carolyn's job than the endless meetings. Oh, how she despised the nattering and chattering of bureaucrats, upper management and staff always in her ear clamouring about the current crisis of the day. 

Was it a lone, radicalized Jihadist attacking tourists with a knife in Trafalgar Square or Vladimir Putin up to some new devilment against a Russian spy turned by MI6 and poisoned by GRU agents arrogantly invading British soil to do so? All of MI6 had been on the receiving end of the prime minister’s wrath after that particular cock-up, and as the head of the Russia Desk, she had personally been singled out for a good bollocking.  
  
“You’re supposed to know what the Russians and that thug in the Kremlin are doing before they know, aren’t you, Mrs. Martens? If MI6 can’t keep safe the assets they turned from the Russkies, then what bloody good are you, anyway?” the prime minister had snarled.   
  
All Carolyn could do was to sit there with the old stiff upper lip. Helen had attempted to make herself invisible and failed miserably while Paul could barely suppress snicking. Outwardly, she maintained her stoic and disciplined manner. Inwardly she had seethed. 

It was humiliating being on the receiving end of a verbal drubbing from these pencil-naked political hacks who were less interested in Britain’s security than covering their own exposed arses. It was another part of the job she could barely tolerate. Perhaps it was time to begin considering a future after MI6.  
  
She sighed audibly, which prompted a murmured, “Ma’am?” from the driver. 

“It’s nothing, George.” she replied and rubbed her tired eyes. “I could use a good stiff drink before I dive into my paperwork.”

“Yes ma’am,” was George’s respectful reply. “I’ll have you home in a few minutes.” 

Of course George was more than a polite chauffeur. He was a highly-trained and heavily armed agent who was more a lethal protector than officious driver.   
  
Since Paul’s “suicide” and her own near-death experience following Villanelle’s assassination of The Twelve’s accountant weeks ago, several high-ranking officials at MI6 had been assigned full-time bodyguards to accompany them wherever they went, even to buy groceries. Carolyn was confident in her own abilities to protect herself and an armed babysitter was such a bloody nuisance, but there was nothing to do but bear it with her customary grace.

Helen had since been sent packing into an early retirement and Paul was dead. Carolyn had assisted in a whisper campaign to push Helen to the exit and she had personally taken Paul out to protect herself. The downside to all these machinations were now there fewer and fewer buffers between Carolyn and MI6’s executive leadership. 

Should they be given any reason to delve deeper into some of her off-the-books operations like Operation Manderley that took Aaron Peel, that autocratic oaf, out of commission as well as out of this life, it would not go well for her. 

Not even all the career politicians that owed her numerous favors as well as members of the Royal Family would be able to spare her from the consequences of what she had done for Queen and Country. She would be cast aside to be replaced by someone else more willing to bend to the capricious whims of politicians like this endless parade of prime ministers. 

Christ, she needed a drink. A nice, hot bath wouldn’t be a bad idea either. Thank heavens she had booted Geraldine out back to whatever organic garden she was growing back in Birmingham. The last thing she needed was more of her constant neediness and clinging to mommy like a vine growing wild.   
  
“Ma’am?” the driver said, interrupting her thoughts. “You appear to have a visitor.”

A steady rain was falling, but there standing under the streetlight was a huddled figure wearing a brown peacoat and a mane of dark hair blowing in the night breeze.

_Eve Polastri._ Not dead. Not disinterested. Still a pebble in Carolyn’s sensible shoes. 

Carolyn sighed. “An unwelcome visitor, I’m afraid, George, but not a dangerous one. Please don’t shoot her.”  
  
The chauffeur/agent nodded affirmatively before uttering, “Yes, ma’am.” While the tone of his response couldn’t have been more respectful, the reality was he very much _wanted_ to indeed shoot Eve Polastri if only to impress his superiors and get off this shit detail. Everyone knew Polastri was a wrong number who had betrayed her friends and MI6, but he was reluctant to go against Carolyn’s commands. 

Instead, he pulled up in front of the wet and shivering woman, put the vehicle in gear, stepped out, opened the door for the MI6 Russia Desk head and held aloft an umbrella to protect her from the cold rain.

He would handle protecting Martens from Polastri if she made any dicey moves. He still harbored hopes of getting off this shit detail, y’know.

“Good evening, Carolyn,” Eve said as the tall woman strode briskly toward her. “I’m terribly sorry to bother you....”

“Yes, Eve and I thought I had made it clear that you weren’t to bother me again.” Carolyn snapped impatiently. “What is it you want now?”

A smile spread over Eve’s damp face. Carolyn did not like that smile. She gestured to the front door. 

“I want to give you a chance to save your career. Shall we step inside?”

  
**Intimate Stranger**

  
  


**  
****Verona, Italy** \-- The night was starless and pitch black by the time Villanelle arrived in Verona. She was a bit sore from sitting so long, but she only had to stop for gas once. She munched on the last of the candy bars she had purchased from the gas station as she guided the Audi to her destination in Verona.

Villanelle pulled over into a parking lot, deposited some coins, and glided into an empty spot. She pushed “Stop” on the dashboard and dropped the keys on the seat. She’d steal another car if worse came to pass.  
  
There was no time for sightseeing. Eve had told her to run and she was focused on her escape. 

The story behind [ Juliet’s Balcony ](https://www.airdolomiti.eu/destinations/verona/what-to-see/juliet-balcony) was less about historical accuracy than it was to manufacture a romantic fantasy that the doomed lovers of William Shakesphere’s mash-up of truth and fiction that became _Romeo and Juliet_. In truth, there had been two warring families that the Bard took a large dollop of artistic license to conflate into the world’s most beloved doomed love affair. 

At the hour, there were still a smattering of tourists outside the Casa di Giulietta gawking and pointing at the 13th century palazzo. For that extra touch, the curators of the property had erected a bronze statue of Juliet in the courtyard, where it was said if you were unlucky in love, rubbing her right breast might change it for the better.

Villanelle yawned. She only wanted to rub one woman’s breasts and she was made of warm flesh and blood, not chilly, unyielding metal. She scanned the thinning crowd for the contact Eve had said would be waiting for her. A young man with tousled hair seemed to be paying more attention than usual to her. Shoving his hands in his pockets he smiled and advanced toward her.

“Hey, there. So, you must be the infamous Villanelle,” he said grinning broadly. “You’re a lot prettier than your mug shots. Now I see why Eve used me to get off with you.”

Villanelle’s face froze in a mask of growing annoyance, as the man immediately realized he had said the wrong thing. 

Angrily, she yanked the pistol out and aimed it at his head. “Who the hell are you supposed to be? Talk fast, or I’ll blow your brains out all over your ugly shoes.”

“Oh, shit! Shit-shit- **SHIT**! Don’t shoot me!” he waved his hands in front of him as if they could block a bullet. I’m with MI6. I’m your contact!”

“I said ‘Who are you?’ I don’t like repeating myself.”  
  
“I’m Hugo! My name is Hugo Turner!!! Carolyn sent me!” The young man was so scared he looked like he might start crying and his whining irritated Villanelle.

“Ugh. MI6 must be hard-up for agents if they would send an infant to bring me in,” she sighed and rolled her eyes, but the gun did not waver. This little idiot didn’t seem tough enough or mean enough to be a mob hitman, but she saw no reason to take chances.

“So you were in Rome with Eve? Then you’ll remember what the password was. Get it right and you live. Get it wrong and you’re dead.”

**“GENTLEMAN!”** Hugo shrieked instantly without hesitation. “God, I’ll _never_ forget that word! Eve heard you say it and she ran to your rescue. She didn’t even care that I was lying in the hallway bleeding out after I got shot.”

What a tragedy that would have been, Villanelle mused. 

She noticed two men separate from the shadows and strut to the shorter man’s side. Now _they_ looked like professionals. They kept their weapons concealed under their matching black suits, but they carried themselves with more poise and confidence than this quivering little worm.

“You both look like MI6. I suppose this is all for me?”

“Yes, ma;am,” a tall Black man with a faint Jamaican accent replied politely. “I’m Peter and this is Thomas. We are here to escort you to the docks where we have a boat waiting. The other agent, a lanky redhead with a neatly trimmed beard and mustache, shook his head in agreement.

“Sorry for Mr. Turner spooking you, ma’am. He hasn’t been back on the job for long. He’s a little rusty in how to properly introduce himself to an extraction subject. Do you have any bags or luggage you need to bring along?”

Villanelle allowed herself to relax and offered a slight smile. 

“No. No luggage. I find myself traveling light these days. It’s hard to keep a bag prepared when you’re being hunted halfway across Europe.” she said as her empty stomach rumbled audibly.

“I could do with something to eat though.” 

“We might have time to stop along the way and grab something from a restaurant,” the Jamaican agent replied. Hugo’s wild eyes flashed with annoyance.

“Better and better,” Villanelle responded. “I’m thinking pasta. Or maybe pizza.”

The three MI6 agents exchanged glances. Hugo mustered up his remaining nerve and, “Well, we’d better get going. It doesn’t appear you were followed, but there’s no reason to hang around and find out. Let’s get to the docks.”

“May we have your weapon, miss?” Agent Redhead asked politely. “We are going to have to search you before you are allowed on the boat.”

Villanelle said nothing, but flipped the gun over and handed it to the agent without protest. She reached into her bag and extended the spare pistol as well as the ballistic knife. Then she pulled out her phone and scrolled through the address log.

“Here!” she said and thrust the phone in Hugo’s face. “Call this number. The best pizza in Verona are made by Pizzeria da Vincenzo. They are to die for, and I am very hungry.”

“What?” Hugo said.

“You’re paying by the way,” Villanelle said as she strode past him. “I am sadly out-of-pocket at this time.”

Villanelle linked arms with the two taller agents who looked amused, but not intimidated by the rogue assassin. Then she turned back to glare at Hugo and when she spoke the Russian inflection in her voice was low, deep and menacing. 

“Do not mention that you had sex with Eve to me again. Do you understand what I am saying? If you _ever_ say that again I’ll pull your tongue out of your mouth and strangle you with my bare hands.”

The young man’s eyes went wide with terror as a warm wetness trickled down his leg. 

“That is not a threat. That is a certainty.”

She turned and strolled away from the terrified young man with her two bodyguards who barely repressed a mutual giggle. 

**Revelations**

  
  


“Jesus Christ. What a fucking shitshow.”  
  
Raking her hands through her hair, Eve felt a surge of apprehension, exasperation, and a bit of... _excitement_ ? **  
**  
Had it really been only three hours earlier that Bear and Eve had huddled together over his laptop and began pouring through a data dump of names, pictures, times, events and places detailing the dirty dealings of MI6? There were hints and allegations of illegal acts, payoffs, and alliances with shady characters and rogue nations.  
  
The case that stuck out was where MI6 had shared information with the Syrian government and their Russian allies of what the agency feared was an Islamic terror cell that was operating out of a Lebanon hospital.

MI6 had expected the Syrians and Russians to send in a commando strike team, isolate the terrorists and take them out. Nice and neat. Instead, the Russians had double-crossed their old foes by simply bombing the hospital flat and claiming the resulting dead doctors, nurses, patients and terrorists had all been killed by poor intelligence from the Brits.  
  
The images of bloodied children, shattered bodies in destroyed operating rooms and families crying for their loved ones had caused an outpouring of international outrage. Hundreds had been killed as the Russians and Syrians denied everything, claiming Islamic insurgents had commandeered the hospital and they had received bad information from an outside agency.

This was not entirely untrue as MI6 was left stuck holding a bag of flaming dog crap and all the dirty details would be revealed to the world by a Bitter Pill exclusive story . Not since Wikleaks in its heyday had outed the Americans in Iraq had there been such a massive exposure of an intelligence agency.  
  
All of this had been compiled and detailed with painstaking accuracy and damning efficiency by the late Kenneth Stowtown. He had prepared a time-released poison pill of MI6 malfeasance and now Eve had possession of it. 

“Why would he do this when he knows this will make his mother look terrible, Eve?” was Bear’s bewildered question as she dug through the treasure trove of information.

“I think terrible is exactly how Kenny wanted Carolyn to look. He knew it would be bad for her as the head of MI6’s Russia Desk, but maybe it might be good for her as his mother,” Eve murmured as her head swam. 

She was lost in a thought. Villanelle had declared Konstantin’s embezzled money from The Twelve as a ticket to freedom, but it was no such thing. It would only guarantee the organization would never stop looking for the thief and Eve no longer wanted to live life in the cross-hairs which is why she raised no protest when Konstantin left with the Russian doll after Carolyn shot Paul. 

_This. This is a_ **_real_ ** _ticket out. I just have to figure out how to cash it in_. 

  
“What do you wanna do with this Eve?” the redhead asked and stuffed candy into his mouth. 

“Nothing. Not at the moment,” she licked her dry lips. “Let me check this out to make sure it's not bullshit. I know someone at MI6 who can vet this information.” 

That part wasn’t a lie. 

  
Relieved from the burden of having to make a decision, Bear shrugged and inhaled another huge mass of sweets. “It’s almost midnight. It’ll keep until Jamie comes in tomorrow morning,” he nodded in agreement. “He’ll be asleep.” 

Eve smiled in response, but it was a smile of cold calculation, not friendly warmth toward the big man. She had gotten what she needed from Bear, and now he was just in the way. 

“Yeah, it’ll keep. Hey, why don’t you go ahead and get out of here, Bear. I have to send an email to my guy anyway before I go home,” she said and patted the big man on the shoulder. 

She allowed her hand to linger for a moment too long. Then to make sure Bear got the message she squeezed the flabby shoulder.

He looked up at Eve, both confused by the physical gesture, yet pleased by her touch. “Uh--okay. Sounds like a good idea, Eve. You want the key to lock up with?”

“Yeah,” she replied without looking up as began to boot up her laptop. “Don’t worry about it. I got this.” She hunched over the device as Bear stood up, stretched, yawned, and ripped a loud fart. 

“Uh--sorry?”

Eve wrinkled her nose, pulled her face mask from her pants pocket and slipped it over her nose to ward off the odor and sternly jerked a thumb to the door. Her “get the fuck out” motion of her gesture was unmistakable even for a socially maladroit Bear.

“It’s okay. Bye.” Eve replied with no attempt to conceal her impatient irritation. 

  
  
As the big redhead lumbered out the door Eve listened for the _ding!_ of the elevator arriving. Eve grabbed a flash drive out of her desk and shoved it into the laptop port. Quickly, she pulled up Kenny’s file and watched the USB drive flash as it downloaded nearly a decade of dirty deeds. Eve smiled for a moment and looking up, noticed it was beginning to rain. She glanced at her wristwatch and noted the time. 

She calculated how long it would be until Carolyn Martens returned home from MI6. Hopefully, she wasn’t meeting anyone after work for a drink or a quick roll between the sheets with yet another one of her Cold War lovers. 

Eve ordered a Lyft ride on her phone. She’d wait all damn night for the old woman to get home if that’s what it took. This was no time for scruples or pleasantries. Eve had a life to save and she would do whatever necessary to do so. 

  
  


**Deals Between Devils**

  
  


It was 2:40 in the morning when Carolyn finally looked up from the computer. She slid her eyeglasses off, plucked a Kleenex and began to polish them. She glanced up at her former employee. Eve’s expression was vacant, revealing nothing. 

“It goes without saying that you have already made copies of this information, correct?”

“Yes,” Eve nodded. “There are copies and they are in a safe place.”

“Really?” the older woman said with a wry smile. “I can’t imagine where that ‘safe place’ could be. Or how you found it so quickly.”

Eve swallowed and shifted uneasily. “This is not a bluff, Carolyn.”

The smile grew larger. “No, I would imagine it is not. It would be easy to signal my bodyguard that you are a threat to me and he would cheerfully put an end to that threat. I can see how much he wants to be promoted. Why shouldn’t I give him the chance to do so?”

“Because that would be a stupid thing to do, Carolyn and the one thing you never are is stupid.”

Carolyn blinked at Eve’s impudence before replying dryly, “How absolutely precious of you to notice.”

“I _could_ give this to Jamie. I could give it to other newspapers and networks or even Wikileaks. Lord knows there’s a part of me that wants to, Carolyn. But I’m going to give you a chance---ONE chance---to help me ignore that part. If I give this to Jaime he will run with it, and The Bitter Pill will be bigger than Julian Assagne and WikiLeaks could have ever dreamed of in their wettest of wet dreams.”

A flash of obvious irritation at the mention of Jamie and Assange’s names passed over the aging spymaster’s face, but she only replied, “If that’s what you want to do Eve, you could do that, but you’d be placing yourself in seriously jeopardy for violating the Official Secrets Act as well as the confidentiality agreements you signed as a MI5 agent.”

  
  
“I’ve factored that, but the reward is worth the risk.” Eve said as a small smirk appeared on her lovely face. “That’s why I’m here talking to you instead of at Jamie’s home talking to him. This story would mean a lot to him, but I believe it means even more to you.” 

Carolyn stared emotionlessly at Eve and allowed the veiled threat to hang in the air for a moment before responding.

“Are you offering me an opportunity to shape and control the narrative of this expose?”

“Precisely.” Eve nodded. “I like Jamie, but he would use the story like a shotgun. You would use a scalpel instead. Despite how my employment ended, I don’t want to destroy British Intelligence outright. Reforming it though is an idea I can support.”

The room fell silent for a minute. Then two. Eve knew when Carolyn’s didn’t scoff at the proposal meant she was considering it. As well as how she might turn it to her own advantage. 

“I wonder if you have ever considered reapplying for reinstatement to MI6, Eve,” Carolyn said in her typically cool, dry tone which betrayed nothing of how she _truly_ thought. “I am beginning to see a degree of ruthlessness I must confess I had not previously considered you capable of.”

Eve gave nothing away and held her silence waiting for the old schemer to finish speaking. It was only polite. Let her talk. 

It was said that Vladimir Gorbachev was a vicious misogynist who hated two women most in the world. Martens was the woman Putin loathed most in the world yet she still breathed air because even he feared this harpy might have sharper claws in death than in life. 

  
  
She had once stared down upon the dwarfish Russian president and said in her dismissive Cambridge educated tone, “Please don’t forget Vlad, you aren’t that far removed from the same sweaty little toad you were in the KGB. Your suits are much better tailored now, but you’re still the same sweaty little toad. Merely one with more sartorial flair” 

_This_ was the woman Eve was fucking with. Yet she was not intimidated. She had thought this over. She had figured it out. She knew how to get the result she most desired in the world: Villanelle safe and sound and in her embrace. To achieve this end, she would employ whatever means were necessary to enlist Carolyn’s assistance in obtaining this goal. For this, there was little to nothing Eve would not dare or would not risk. 

She wanted her woman with her. Nothing else mattered. 

Carolyn sipped from a cuppa of tea. “As offers go, you could do far, far worse.”

“How many kills would that take, Carolyn?” Eve murmured “How long might it take?”

“Six kills. Twelve months. Then you’d be done and out of it once and for all.”

Pushing her chair back with a loud squeak, Eve stood, stretched and strode toward the bulletproof, shatter-resistant glass window of Conference Room #7. She gazed out at the river. Seemingly looking at nothing, but simultaneously seeing everything.

“Lead me not into temptation, Carolyn,” Eve said without turning around to face the veteran spy. “I have no problem finding it all by myself. Thanks, but I’ll pass on your kind offer. Mostly, because I’d sooner stick my arm in a garbage disposal than ever work with an old evil bitch like you again.”

  
Carolyn looked up from her steaming cup to cock a disapproving eyebrow. _The bloody_ **_cheek_ ** _on this one---_

  
  
“You have no reason to believe anything I say, but I respect you, Eve.” Carolyn said. “Please indulge this idle speculation: you want something in exchange for your silence, do you not?”

Eve stared at Carolyn for a moment. “How--how did you know I..?”

“You think you’re the first agent to demand a deal in exchange for maintaining their silence about off-the-book operations?” 

Eve began to stammer a response, but the older spy added, “There are certain individuals who are very curious as to why you’re still drawing breath, Eve. I am not protecting you from them, but I am not directing them at you either. Trust me that I could if I were so inclined.”

Eve’s mouth felt very dry, but she mustered enough moisture to reply, “Then why haven’t you?”

“I have my reasons, Eve. It does not serve our interests that you die at this time.”

“ _Our_ interests, Carolyn?” the shorter woman said as she craned her neck upward to meet the spymasters' eyes, but she was looking away and did not reply. Eve resisted the urge to ask further knowing from experience Carolyn only shared information when she benefited from doing so. 

“When you ask for whatever you ask for, ask for _more_ than you expect to receive. This is very much a negotiation. It is best you allow them to believe they are getting the better end of the deal.” 

Eve stared with ill-concealed disgust, but maintained her tactful silence.

  
  
“It embarrasses me slightly to concede that you do have me at a disadvantage, Eve. I never fully considered the possibility that Kenny’s naivete and need for friendship would allow him to betray my secrets to you, but perhaps he was more like his father in his capacity for duplicity than I had previously believed him to be.”

Eve stared in dumbfounded amazement as the taller woman momentarily turned away from her. Was that a tear Carolyn was trying to conceal from her? A momentary lapse back into humanity at the pure agony that a child’s betrayal of a parent would surely inflict. Carolyn was a cold-hearted bastard. That, Eve had figured out a long time ago, but even she had to be stung by what Kenny had done?

_Right?_

  
  
“Do not be timid, Eve. Be bold and be insistent. I know what you are going to demand. They will not give it to you unless you make it clear you are willing to inflict more pain on MI6 than they can inflict upon you.”

_Okay. So_ **_not_ ** _right. She really_ _is_ _a cold bastard._

“I see,” Eve said as she mustered to respond with the most coldly officious reply ever.

“Yes. I imagine you do,” Carolyn replied. “They will have an offer to put on the table. No matter how sweet the bait is, don’t accept it. It will be less than what you need.”

“Get everything you want, but don’t be frightened to ask for it,” she said. “That is something we have in common: we aren’t frightened to ask for and settle for nothing less than our worth. Villanelle and I have always known this.”

“You are only learning.”

  
  
A feeling of weightlessness washed over Eve’s slight frame in waves. Was Carolyn trying to be _nice_ to her? She had made up in her mind to never listen to a word uttered by this horrible bitch, yet here she sat transfixed. What power did Carolyn hold over that she knew Eve so intimately? 

  
  
“Why, Carolyn?” Eve said softly. “Why are you telling me this? Why are you trying to help me?”

  
  
“Aim low and shoot high, Eve. That’s the secret,” the older woman said, tapping her forehead with a long finger. “Ask for more than what they want to give, but do not settle for less than what you need. Yours is a rare position: you would have one of the world’s most formidable intelligence agencies scared down to their socks.”

“I find it all quite amusing actually,” Carolyn smiled. “Some of them would very much like to take you out, pump two bullets into the back of your head, and dump your body in a bog somewhere. Most of them know better. Blood is a big expense and for you and your blustery friend to disappear would only intensify the scrutiny the agency is under, not lessen it.”

“Here’s what will happen: you will ask for an exorbitant amount of money and they will bluster and call your bluff, but as they do not know you as I do and they will not realize until it is too late: _she is not bluffing._ That is when they will give you whatever you want to go away. “ 

“Have a number in your mind. Write it down on a piece of paper and push it face down toward the most important person at the table. They will turn it over, glare at it and then glare at you and after that person adjourns the meeting, they will counsel with the agency’s accountants, scratch you a check and off you go.”

“Do not plan to return to England for a while, Eve. Or Europe in general. Here is where The Twelve are at their most powerful and most dangerous. I can protect you for a while, but not forever. I’m afraid you and your paramour are _persona non grata_ on these shores for some time to come.” 

  
“There’s nothing here I want, Carolyn. Just Villanelle.” Eve replied. “As long as she’s safe, I don’t care about anything else.”

  
“I see…” the spymaster replied. She looked thoughtful for a moment as if considering why anyone would burn their life down to protect a merciless psychopath, but said nothing more.

“I know it doesn’t make sense to you, Carolyn. It barely makes any sense to me, but…”

“But the heart wants what the heart wants.” Carolyn interrupted. “Yes, I can understand that, Eve. All I can say is you are attempting to domesticate and tame a tiger. You would do well to remember that the pleased purr by night can turn into a ferocious roar by the light of day. Villanelle will not be leashed for long, and when she slips the leash, no one is safe.”

Eve nodded affirmatively. She knew from bitter experience what happens when Villanelle was unleashed. People start dying.

  
  
  
  


**Out to Sea**

Villanelle stood on the railing of the ship staring out at the dark waters. Her mood was growing even darker and far more dangerous. She had been stuck on Her Majesty’s Navy vessel for a long, long and dull week. She was seasick. She was nauseous. She wanted to be back on dry land. 

Mostly, she wanted Eve. 

Or she was going to kill someone. And then another. And another. And she would keep killing until she found the bastard who could get her back on solid ground and give her some straight answers. Not necessarily in that order.

That morning she had taken her daily jog around the ship, ignoring the leering looks of the horny sailors as Peter and Thomas kept pace flanking her. With them beside her the catcalls and lewd comments had come to a stop. Not that she couldn’t have handled matters herself. 

The three of them shoving a sailor’s head in yet uncleaned latrine had ended the unappreciated and disgustingly lewd come-ons. Villanelle still despised the sight of Hugo, that wormy little coward, but so did her bodyguards, so she had resolved to give them fair warming before she began slitting throats and chopping knobs.

“Peter, please inform Hugo I need to get back to land now. I’ve answered all his annoyingly banal questions about The Twelve and now I am done. I have nothing more to say to him. I want to see Eve and I want to see her now.”

Peter towered over Villanelle, but he had some inkling of how her moods worked. Tommy and he had discussed what might happen when it changed from amused tolerance to aggravated impatience.

  
“Nothing good, that’s for sure,” Tommy had said. “She’ll kill every mother’s son in this tub, chop off Hugo’s knob and toss it to the sharks. Then she’ll start on us.”

They had agreed to make the assassin’s growing annoyance a priority in their A.M. briefing with Hugo and Mrs. Martens back at MI6.

Two hours later, Villanelle heard a timid rapping at her door knowing instantly who it was.

“Yes?” she snapped as she flung open the door. Villanelle was only wearing panties and she wasn’t going to be modest for a little shit like Hugo. 

“Oh--oh s--shit...I--I didn’t know you weren’t dr-dressed,” the young agent stammered.

“I don’t get dressed to greet errand boys. Tell me something I don’t know and it had better be good.”

Hugo raised his hands defensively, “It’s good news.” He kept one hand raised in front of him and with the other handed a thick manila envelope to Villanelle who tore it open and dropped its contents on the floor of her cabin. 

There was money and a passport, some official-looking paperwork, and a picture. A picture of herself in a long wig and a blank expression.

_Billie._ She was going to be Billie Marie Morgan again. 

“I see Carolyn spared no expense in coming up with my new identity? Billie? REALLY?”

Licking his lips, Hugo replied, “Apparently, Carolyn thought you’d prefer playing a part you’re already familiar with.” Pressing his luck a bit he added with a small dollop of sarcasm, “Has your American accent gotten any better?”

  
  
He never saw the hand that shot out and grasped him by the throat, but he surely felt the sudden burst of pain from Villanelle’s deceptively strong fingers as she squeezed tight.

“Be careful, little boy. Just because I haven’t killed you yet doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how much I want to. You are pressing your luck.”

She released her grasp and as he staggered back against the door, she knelt and gracefully swooped up the paperwork. Quickly, she skimmed over the paperwork and saw an unusual term. She scrunched up her sun-tanned nose and held a page in front of Hugo.

“What is this? “

Squinting through salty tears, Hugo said in a quivering voice. “It’s where you’re going. It’s where Eve is. You’re going to be meeting with her there.”

In her time in the employ of The Twelve, nearly all of her targets had been on European soil. There was still a whole lot of world out there for the young Russian to explore. 

Eve had found one such place. 

“Where the hell is Ambergris Caye?” 


	8. Like Sugar.

**  
**

**(commissioned illustration by KayworxX)**

**A Place in the Sun.**

_Ambergris Caye, pronounced am-BUR-gris KEE, is the largest island of Belize, located northeast of the country's mainland, in the Caribbean Sea. It is about 40 kilometres long from north to south, and about 1.6 kilometres wide. Where it has not been modified by humans, it is mostly a ring of white sand beach around a mangrove swamp in the centre._   
  
A Wikipedia entry was all Villanelle could find about her next destination before she was transferred from the ship to a protected convoy to an airport where she was routed past Customs and directly to a waiting private jet. It would be an 11-hour flight from London to Belize. 

She was scrolling through a Macbook reading up on Ambergris Caye,the country’s largest island trying to learn more about it and came across a travel brochure which read, _“Here is a place where you can really relax, there is nothing that you can do to change anything ... things will happen eventually, so you may as well just sit back and enjoy the view!_ ”

Villanelle muttered something unintelligible under her breath. Being advised to sit back, relax, and allow somebody else to control her life displeased her. No one was ever going to dictate her fate. 

  
The bodyguards had accompanied her to Belize, but Hugo had disappeared upon their arrival back on British soil. She stared around the San Pedro Town visitor center where a cab had dropped them and looked for any sign of Eve, as three beautiful, copper-skinned children looked and ran past them giggling. 

A young man casually leaning on a golf cart holding a sign that read “Billie Morgan” noticed the ll-matched trio and ambled over to them. The two agents looked him over warily, but made no defensive motion. 

“Are you Miss Morgan, ma’am?” he said in Spanish-accented English. 

“Yes, I am” Villanelle replied, instantly switching to a broad American-accented English and causing both bodyguards to turn and stare at her.

“Good afternoon, Miss Morgan. Welcome to Ambergris Caye. I am Francisco and I can take you to Miss Park’s villa.” he replied and showcased a broad smile of shiny white teeth. “Are these two gentlmen accompanying you?”

“Oh No. We met on the plane and they offered to keep me company until I got my bearings. Would you be so kind as to take my bags?” she said and pointed to the luggage Thomas and Peter were carrying.

“Yes ma’am. Right away.”

As the young man walked back to the golf cart whistling, Villanelle turned to face the two bemused bodyguards.

“Thank you both so much for the protection and the company, guys.” she said as she hugged first Thomas then Peter. “I’m only sorry that little worm Hugo isn’t here so I could give him a goodbye kick in his tiny balls.”

Thomas roared with laughter while Peter snickered, “We’ll be sure to tell him you send your love, Miss Morgan. Good luck to you and your friend. Miss Martens wanted us to remind you to have fun, but stay out of Europe for a while.”   
  


“Considering the circumstances, I’m not likely to forget. I guess I’m not getting my gun back with me being here in a strange country and all, right?”

Peter shook his head. “Afraid not, Miss Morgan. That gun is long gone.”

  
  
“Not a problem. If I need one, I’m sure I can get my hands on a knife. Fly home safe.” She waved and trotted across the street to the golf car where Francisco was still whistling as he waited. 

She looked dubiously at the cart as Francisco clambered about and bucked his seat belt, “I can see you’re not that happy about the golf cart, ma’am?”

Villanelle shook her head and added, “I’ve been on a boat for weeks and on a plane for 11 hours. I was hoping for a car so I could grab a quick nap on the way.”

Francisco smiled again, “Trust me, ma’am. You’ll be fine and besides some of the roads we have to take to get to the villa are a little rough for a car.”

Frowning, but saying nothing further, Villanelle snapped on her seat belt and lowered her sunglasses over her eyes. 

  
  


Forty-five minutes later, Villanelle’s bladder began to cry for relief and her nerves were frazzled from the occasionally bumpy right. Francisco glided the cart in front of the white sands of a two-story villa. He hopped out and began to gather Villanelle’s luggage. 

The sun was beginning to set as Villanelle stood in front of [ Solaria Villas II ](https://booksunrisebelizevacationrentals.escapia.com/Unit/Details/121569) and couldn’t help but feel a bit impressed by it.   
  
Facing out to the sea the Solaria II villa was 5,000 square feet of four bedrooms, three story tropical atrium with sweeping spiral wooden staircase, a gourmet kitchen, plasma screens throughout, Bluetooth surround sound, private hot tub, outdoor gas grill, and bikes and kayaks, a private hot tub, an outdoor gas grill, air conditioning, a Personal Concierge and daily maid service

Eve had gone _big_. This was the sort of luxury Villanelle both desired and deserved. 

Suddenly, she felt all the minor aches and pains of a long flight added with the weariness of being betrayed by The Twelve and hunted by paid killers across Europe. She had lost interest in killing people because Konstantin or Dasha handed her a postcard and told her to do it. She suddenly was bone tired of all of it. 

She wanted to rest. She wanted to feel something other than anger or boredom. She wanted to feel something different. Something like being at peace with the world and with herself. 

Villanelle walked up to the front door of the villa, placed her suitcases on the porch and raised her fist to rap on the door, but it swung open and there stood Eve. 

“Welcome, baby! You made it!” 

The sea breeze whipped that mane of unruly hair across her face. Smiling and looking healthy, in a blue halter top and matching shorts that showed her tanned arms, legs and torso.

She looked so fucking _good_. 

Villanelle took two steps forward, wrapped her arms around Eve and swung her around. She buried her nose in Eve’s hair and began to kiss her passionately on her shoulders and neck before locking lips together.

“Eve! Oh God, how I’ve missed you.” she cried out. “It’s been so long. I didn’t know---didn’t dream--this would happen, but it did. It did! We’re together at last!”   
  
Though shorter in stature, Eve was deceptively sturdy, and especially when she was excited. She was very excited now and she wrapped her arms around Villanelle’s waist and pulled her into a strong embrace. 

“I’ve missed you too, baby. I can’t believe how much I missed seeing you and touching you, but now you’re here. Now I’m going to touch you all I want.”

“Oh Eve, you are so bad. Or is it Ava now?”

“Guilty as charged,” the brunette grinned. “I always had a thing for palindromes. Come on! Get your ass in here and let me show you around.”

Villanelle paused to look over her shoulder at Francisco. He was looking away from them up at some palm trees, as if he was respecting their privacy. 

“Hey, Ava?” she said loudly. “Give me a moment so I can tip the driver. Be right back.”

Glancing into her purse, Villanelle pulled out her phone and approached her driver, “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any money on me at the moment. Can I tip you with my cash app?”

“No ma’am. Miss Park already took care of that when she made the arrangements. She was quite generous. I was just waiting to tell you if you are in need of any transportation or dining tips while you’re in San Pedro Town, please give me a call anytime. Day or night.”

He handed a business card over and waved at Villanelle, hopped back in the golf cart, and took off in the direction they had come from. 

Villanelle watched him recede in the distance and heard the cawing of sea birds nearby. She looked up at the sun basking its warmth upon her. Suddenly she felt very white and very pale. She had been in Europe for a long time. Maybe too long.

She looked back at the open door of the villa where Eve had disappeared into. A smile crept on her face. 

_If I’m going to be somewhere I would rather it be here and with her than anywhere else_. 

  
  
  
  
  


**A Story Within the Story.**

Two hours, one emptied bladder, a quick shower and a light lunch later, Eve had finished giving Villanelle a tour of the villa. They were standing in the master bedroom as Villanelle marveled at the beachfront and ocean view.

“Impressive.” she said. “I imagine this is quite the sight on a moonlit night.”

There was no response for a moment and when it came Eve spoke in a low voice that positively dripped with wanton, lewd desire. 

“It is going to be a moonlit night tonight, darling. I checked.” 

She turned in response and saw Eve was lying on the large four-poster bed. She was toying with the knot of her halter, dark eyes sparkling mischievously. The sight of her abundantly lush and luxurious locks made Villanelle’s nipples harden. 

Absentmindedly, she involuntarily touched the faint scar where Eve had stabbed her. She couldn’t help herself. She didn’t much want to either. 

  
  
“You’re standing way too far and wearing way too many clothes.” 

Eve rose from the bed and approached Villanelle. She stood there paralyzed for a moment as Eve’s hand cupped her cheek. 

I haven’t said ‘hello’ the way I should have”, Eve whispered lustily in Villanelle’s ear. “Take three steps backward. Let me say it now in a special way.”

Without questioning, Villanelle soundlessly moved backward. Gracefully and gradually, Eve sunk to her knees. Placing her hands on the polished wooden floor, she began to crawl to when Villanelle stood. Slowly. Delicately. Methodically. Like a cat stalking its prey before pouncing.

Eve’s wild eyes never left Villanelle’s face. She didn’t even blink.

  
  
When Eve reached the assassin, she straightened up to face her, brushing aside the locks of curly raven hair, and with one sudden motion, grabbed Villanelle’s right leg and hoisted it over her shoulder. 

Then she smiled again and began to delicately stroke Villanelle’s pussy with her tongue. Eve licked and lapped and then corkscrewed her tongue up and between the swelling lips. They were already wet and oh, so juicy. 

“I see you’ve been thinking about this too.” Eve giggled before burying her face between Villanelle’s legs making the blonde gasp audibly. 

_Who the fuck is this crazy woman eating me alive? This can’t be the same one who had no clue what to do in bed with a woman? That Eve was just licking around and hoping to get lucky. This Eve is actually good at this. She’s going to make me come!_

“Nuh--nothing else. But you were supposed to be on the receiving end,” Villanelle stuttered. She bit her bottom lip and drew a small bubble of blood.

“That’s what you thought. This is what you get,” Eve mumbled as her mouth was busily making sucking and slurping sounds. It wasn’t just for effect. Eve was enjoying serving Villanelle as much as Villanelle enjoyed getting served.   
  
She pulled away from Eve, as her mouth separated from her pussy with a comical POP!, but Villanelle immediately advanced on Eve.

“Lean back on your hands, Eve and open your mouth. I’m going to ride your face”

The wicked grin on Eve’s face widened and her wet, red tongue dripped with Villanelle’s juices. 

“Do it! Do it **NOW**.”

  
  
Villanelle shut Eve up as she grabbed two handfuls of brunette hair and ground herself forcibly into Eve’s mouth and lips. As driven by longing and lust as she was, Villanelle was not gentle with Eve, and that suited both of them just fine. Eve slurped, gurgled and lapped with enthusiasm. 

_"Mmmmmm...._ " they both said simultaneously. Normally, the unintended harmony might have prompted a shared laugh, but both women were focused on what they were doing and feeling. There was no space for any other thought to intrude.

  
  


At full stamina, this would have only been the opening ceremony of a full night and better part of the following morning of Olympic-level lovemaking. Villanelle was not at full stamina and she fell into a snoring slumber after only two leg-shaking orgasms.

Eve Polastri, feeling no small amount of pride having fucked Villanelle into the land of nod, laid next to the younger woman who had burrowed under her left armpit and was dozing with a smile on her lovely face. A sudden twinge of pain made Eve wince. 

It was her bad luck that Villanelle had gotten comfortable on her left shoulder and arm. _She’s sleeping on my bad side where she shot me_!

Grimacing slightly, Eve shifted a bit as Villanelle slipped further down and off the still-healing shoulder. The outed assassin wrapped an arm around the fired agent and pulled her tight as though she were a teddy bear. 

“That was---amazing, Ava.” Villanelle said dreamily and with eyes remaining closed. “I can’t wait to return the favor. I can taste it.”

“Only for you, baby,” was Eve’s response. _“Only. For. You_.” Each word was given emphasis and the meaning did not go unnoticed. 

Villanelle's eyes snapped open and they were alert and attentive.  
  


“Am I yours?” she said quietly. “Are you mine?”

“Yes. Always. I am yours and you are mine.”  
  
  


Take that off and put this on,” Eve said in a husky voice. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this and I can’t wait another minute.”

As Villanelle dropped the white bathrobe and turned around, Eve had produced from under the bed a large gift-wrapped box. 

Looking into the box, the young Russian found a gown, _but oh what a gown_. It was satin and silky and with only one glance Villanelle knew immediately it would fit her like a glove. It was soft to the touch, cobweb like and diaphanous. Lavish. Luxurious.  
  
And it was **red**. As red as blood. She wanted to feel it on her and then she wanted Eve to take it off her. Slowly. By inches. 

“It’s...it’s _amazing_ ” she breathed. She felt giddy and suddenly...shy? _Was Eve trying to seduce her?_

“Put. It. On.”

Eve placed a hand on Villanelle’s hip and slid it down under the waistband of her jeans. The blonde groaned softly as fingers sought and brushed against her clitoris. She backed her ass up into Eve as she ground her hips into her with growing excitement. 

“Fuck, that feels good,” she muttered. Eve was really starting to get to her. When this reversal came to pass, she wasn’t sure, but she wasn’t complaining about it. Every so often it felt good to cede control and let someone else take the lead. 

As Eve slowly pulled her hand up, she brushed light against a slight scar. The scar she marked Villanelle with for life. Her breath hitched and brought the assassin back to the moment. She didn’t want to spoil the mood, but she couldn’t help herself. If she didn’t ask now she might not ask at all. 

“Is it okay if I ask you a question?”

In the moonlight, Eve’s smile was dazzling. “I can’t promise you an answer, but you can always ask the question” as she squeezed Villanelle’s ass cheek for emphasis. 

“Ooh. Your hand is so warm.” she laughed with a girlish giggle Eve found adorable. “Stop that or you’ll make me forget what I was going to say.

“Maybe that was my evil scheme all along, my dear,” she replied and arched her eyebrows dramatically.. “To lure you into this den of sin and to make you lose your mind in my web of seduction.”

Laughing, Villanelle playfully slapped Eve’s wrist. “You are a pervert. I thought you were a good girl, but I see you had me fooled.”

“The better to eat you, my dear,” Eve said in a deep voice. “Okay, go ahead and ask your damn question.”

Villanelle wrapped Eve in her arms and pulled her close for a long, slow kiss. There was no resistance or protest from the shorter woman who returned the embrace and arched up into her lover’s wet mouth, as she captured and sucked Villanelle’s tongue. 

Eve’s breath was stolen by the passion in which Villanelle kissed her. She felt light-headed. She was weightless. It was intoxicating.

It was a little too much. She broke off the kiss and stumbled back. Villanelle’s closed eyes snapped open.

“What? What’s wrong, Eve? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Oh God, yes. I’m fine, baby It was...just a _wee_ bit overwhelming?” she laughed. “You kissed the life out of me!”

“Oh, Eve, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Villanelle said, backing away a step, but Eve vigorously shook her head ‘no.’

“Don’t be sorry. I interrupted you before you could ask your question. What was it?”

Villanelle took Eve’s hand and walked them both outside to the balcony. The night was cool and a light brief wafted over their nude bodies. 

“I just wanted to ask. Do you think you could learn to love me? Do you think I’m even deserving of love?”  
  
A moment passed without a response and then it seemed to stretch from moments to a minute. Hesitantly, she glanced over at Eve. Her eyes were shut and her expression was placid. She seemed to be dreaming on her feet. 

“Eve…?” she said, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. Eve’s eyes remained closed as if she were meditating, but she exhaled audibly.

“I heard you, Villanelle. I wanted to consider what you asked before answering. My problem is I just blurt shit out and end up regretting it. A serious question deserves a serious answer.”

She turned and looked deep in the green eyes of the taller woman. “Maybe you don’t deserve love. Maybe you are a monster and a heartless killer. Maybe you can’t be anything more than what you were trained to be.”  
  
As a wave of disappointment washed over the young woman's face, Eve cupped her cheeks with both hands and drew her nose-to-nose. She knew how Villanelle’s moods worked and she had anticipated this one. 

“But maybe you can. Maybe you _are_ deserving of love. And so am I.”

I don’t know if we have a future or just having an extended moment, you know?” Eve began to pace back and forth. “I don’t have the slightest idea where we will be in a month. I’m trying hard not to make plans for us without discussing them with you first.”

Villanelle smiled. Eve was trying to include her instead of doing things first and telling her what she had done later. 

“Is that why we’re sitting here in this lovely bungalow in Belize instead of freezing our tits off in London?”

Eve stopped pacing. She looked very serious as her brow furrowed.   
  
“This wasn’t what I had planned, Villanelle. I thought we might be able to stay in England, but after The Twelve turned you over to the Mafia and your face became known, that became impossible. You wouldn’t be able to walk the streets without worry that someone would come up behind you, put a gun to your head, and blow your brains out.”

The young Russian sighed and rubbed her eyes. She knew she couldn’t go back to Europe. Maybe never again, and she was still sorting out how she felt about that.   
  
“Look, I can be a real messy bitch sometimes? Okay? I know that about myself. I can’t help it. Every relationship I’ve ever had has been messy because I messed it up. I don’t want that to happen here.”

Eve’s eyes blurred with tears and she angrily wiped them away. “Okay? I don’t want to mess this up.”

“Not with you. Not with us.”

Villanelle stood up and closed the distance between them. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that and I agree: I don’t want to mess this up either.”

Without warning, Villanelle scooped Eve up like a child with an ease that unnerved her. 

“Let’s go back to bed and pick up where we left off.”

Eve reached up and tweaked Villanelle’s nose. “Why walk so far? It’s a beautiful, moonlit night, this breeze feels delicious and there’s a perfectly good loveseat right there going to waste.”

“Hmmm...good point.”

Eve wiggled free and kissed Villanelle again. This time her eyes were closed, her mouth open and her tongue darting in and out. The blonde moaned and rotated her thumb over Eve’s left nipple willing it into hardness.

“Jesus--FUCK!”

“Blasphemer,” Villanelle whispered.

“I’m a sinner all right and I’ve got a lot more sinning to do tonight.” 

They tumbled onto the loveseat and carried on until the first rays of sunshine found them sleeping and satisfied. 

  
  


**Devil in the Details.  
**

  
  
  


After a long morning of sleeping, showering, snorkeling, showering, fucking, biking and fucking and shopping Eve was devouring a lobster taill at a outside fish market in San Pedro Town while Villanelle gazed around lost in thought. 

“Eve? I’ve been thinking.”

“Really? Me too,” she replied between hearty bites. “I’ve been thinking there’s a few rooms, floors and walls back at the villa we haven’t banged on yet. I’m ready to go home and work off some calories You?”

“I’m serious, you sex maniac. God, you are SO horny.”

“Sorry, but I’ve had a lot of pent-up, frustrated sexual energy to work out. Can you blame me for wanting you any time I can get my hands on you? Or other things than my hands?” she grinned and suggestively wagged ten greasy fingers at her lunch date.  
  
Villanelle made a face and pushed Eve’s hands down. “I’m serious. I want to talk about what’s next for us.”

“I was thinking sex in the afternoon to work off lunch and to work up an appetite for a nice dinner, but I have a feeling that’s not what you mean.” Eve replied and picked at the remains on her plate. 

Villanelle shook her head slowly in the negative. Eve sighed and pushed her plate away. She waved for the waiter’s attention.

“Let me pay the check and we can go back to the villa. I want to be sitting down and relaxing when we have this chat.”

Why was Eve being evasive? This was a side of her Villanelle did not care for, but she held her tongue. Trust. She had to learn how to trust Eve and she was trying, but like most things tried, this was hard. 

Forty-five minutes later, they were back at Solaris II. This being the off-season, most of the other villas were unoccupied which suited the two of them perfectly. Villanelle was able to walk around topless and soon Eve, in a break from her normal modesty, joined in as they sat in the bubbling hot tub.

“Okay, here’s the deal: we have money. Lots of it. Money enough to go wherever you want to go---except Europe. Europe is out. It’s way too dangerous for a former assassin with a price on her head.   
  
Villanelle wiggled her toes and leaned back against the wall of the hot tub. Eve reached for a glass of Veuve Clicquot champagne and chugged it down. 

“How much money do you have? 

“You misheard. Not me,” Eve corrected. “ _Us_. ”

“Okay, professor. Thanks for the correction, now how about an answer?”

Eve paused and then poured another glass before answering. “Four million dollars. Split 50-50.”

Dead air hung over them for a moment. _I’m not going to act surprised. I won’t act surprised. I won’t--_

“Where did we get four million dollars, Eve?”

“We got it from Konstantin. Or to be accurate, Carolyn got it from him,” Eve sighed and slurped more champagne. “After she shot Paul and seemingly let Konstantin go free, she had a team of MI6 agents intercept him and arrest him when he turned the Russian doll in for his money.“ 

“So, Konstantin _didn’t_ escape? Where is he now?” Villanelle said as she eyed Eve suspiciously.   
  
Eve stood up and poured the last of the wine. “Don’t know and don’t care. Probably under arrest somewhere. Carolyn is sweating him for everything he knows about Paul, Dasha and The Twelve. She’s certain he knows more about Kenny’s death than that bullshit story he told her at gunpoint.”

Eve’s distaste for Konstantin hadn’t wavered in the least. She disliked him from the moment she met him and if he was having a miserable time in the company of MI6, she didn’t give a shit. One less thing between her and a free path to Villanelle is how she saw it. 

“Konstantin is your buddy, not mine, and whatever MI6 does to his treacherous ass, he deserves. He’d sell out his own mother if there was a profit to it.”

As many times as he had thrown her to the wolves, Villanelle knew Konstantin was not to be trusted, but Eve’s contempt for him was tough to swallow. She had been far more deferential to Eve’s dull husband and his horrible mustache. 

“I trust Konstantin more than Carolyn!,” she bristled. ”What kind of deal did you make with that woman, Eve? I won’t work for her! Not again. Never again.”

Eve stiffened and then she slowly turned around to look at Villanelle. She didn’t look angry or frustrated. She looked tired.

“Did I make a deal with Carolyn, Villanelle? To get you out of Italy? To save your life?” she said in a calm, even tone. “Yeah. You’re goddamned right I made a deal and if I hadn’t you wouldn’t be here. You’d be lying face down in a ditch somewhere with two bullets behind the ear.”

Knowing this was true, Villanelle sighed deeply and sunk into the cushions of the chair. She had come to the realization weeks ago that Europe was closed to her, but that didn't mean she was going to accept it happily or without protest. After fleeing Russia, exploring everything Europe had to offer had been part of the conversion of sad and pathetic Oksana to the fearsome and incredible Villanelle. She resented not being able to move freely and Eve had the bad luck to be the one to say out loud what she already knew.

“And I would never know. I would never know what happened to you or what they did to you before they killed you,” Eve shouted as her voice trembled. 

  
  
This part Villanelle could not argue with. She was penniless, friendless and running out of places to hide when MI6 had extracted her. The prospect of dying had never troubled her though. She was in the wrong business if she worried about a sudden and painful end. Whenever her time came Villanelle would face it standing up and fighting for her life and taking as many as she could in the process. .

  
  


But Eve gave her a reason to want to live. She wanted to love and protect her magnificent woman. This was her newfound purpose to exist. 

Navigating the waters of all these new emotions washing over her was making Villanelle confused and unsteady. For a week now she had been immersed in Eve. They were spending every waking moment together. They were eating and sleeping and bathing and swimming and fucking and not really talking all that much or all that deeply. 

“Your thinking is so loud,” Eve said. “I can practically hear it.”

“We can go anywhere from Honduras to Harlem to the Himalayas. We are free to do what we like with nobody else in our head. No Konstantin or Helene or Dasha or Niko or even Carolyn,” Eve said as her voice raised sharply. “Sorry if this isn’t as clean or comes without any strings attached, but that’s the way deals work. Both sides have to give up something to get something.”

“You wanted out. I got you out.” Eve snapped as Villanelle’s eyes widened at her lover’s fury. 

“You wanted freedom, Villanelle? This is it.”

Then Eve jumped up, ran into the villa, slamming the door shut behind her. 

Villanelle sat in the hot tub feeling confused. What had just happened?

  
  
  


**Like Sugar  
**

  
  


They had prepared a salad earlier and Villanelle filled a plate and munched on it for a while listening to Eve’s sobbing above her in the master bedroom. After the last rays of sunlight had disappeared and the sounds of the night began to sing around the villa, she crept soundlessly up the spiral steps.

Eve was lying on her side of the bed wearing only a pajama top. As she crawled next to her Villanelle could hear her sniffling. Knowing she had caused this with what must have seemed like ingratitude to Eve caused no small degree of guilt in the young woman. It was a foreign emotion.  
  
She began to run her fingers through that lush head of hair as she pulled the shirt collar down and softly kissed Eve’s bare neck. Eve didn’t respond with words, but she didn’t pull away either. 

Neither one of them broke the silence for a long time. They simply laid there as a warm breeze wafted over them. 

Hours had passed before a wide-awake Villanelle murmured, ““I’m sorry, Eve. I know you saved me. I don’t have the right to be angry because I’m not thrilled with how you did it.”

Eve shifted and rolled over to face Villanelle. 

“We have an understanding, Carolyn and I. Neither one of us likes that we have to deal with each other, but we’ve figured out a way to make it work. She gives us safe passage out of this miserable existence we’ve endured back in Europe and here we are on the first leg of our journey to normal life. Whatever that might look like.”

She kissed Villanelle on the forehead and took her hand placing it over her beating heart. Villanelle drew in a deep breath and exhaled before taking Eve’s other hand and repeating the gesture.   
  
“All I want is a little down time. Just an end to the running and chasing and all the crap of the past few years. I have no job, no husband, no friends and no home. All I have is this gaping hole in my heart and it only feels good when I'm with you.”

“I feel--I feel the same way, Eve. You give me peace and I’ve never known peace. You understand me like nobody else.”

“But I want you to know something: I want to be included in these plans. I’ve had enough of being told what to do and led around by the nose. We are lovers now. We do this all together or we don’t do it at all.

There it was Eve mused. Too many people underestimated Villanelle’s intelligence. She wasn’t college educated, but she was smart---really smart. Villanelle didn’t need professors and philosophy lectures to be operating at a near-genius I.Q. Eve had done the work and studied enough this type of killer before. 

Now she was sleeping with one and feeling pretty damn good about it. She’s damaged goods and so am I. Why not be damaged together?

“It’s a deal, Villanelle,” she replied with a chaste peck on the nose. “Now I’m tired of talking and I’ve got a better use for that pretty mouth of yours.” 

“That reminds me. Have you divorced your husband?”

“Good question. Did you divorce your wife?” Eve shot back.

Villanelle’s face--cracked, “How-who--who told you I got married?”

Eve walked up to the shocked assassin, wagged her finger, leaned forward and kissed her on top of her head like she was her grandmother. 

“Villanelle---PLEASE. Who am I? I’m Eve Polastri. I know everything there is to know about you and what I don’t know isn’t worth knowing.

Plus, MI6 kept a dossier on you after Rome. Carolyn likes to know where infamous international assassins are even if they aren’t assassinating anyone at the moment. She let me read it, so I know all about you and Maria. You want to explain this to me?”

“I---it---it’s complicated.” she stammered. “But I don’t love Maria. I love _you_ , Eve! Only you!

Eve reached over and twisted Villanelle’s ear. “Never lie to me unless you’re sure I’ll never find out the truth. 

“Oooh! You are so bossy, Kill Commander!” she giggled.   
  
“You are such an asshole,” Eve snapped, but grinned broadly as she took a swipe at Villanelle’s butt before she scurried out of the reach of her sadly short arms. 

There were so many things Eve had gotten wrong over the years, but nothing could possibly feel more right than this. Was she crazy? She was kissing and sucking and licking and tasting every inch of this beautiful and monstrous psychopath and if felt completely sane and right. 

She was so damn happy. She’d kill to keep feeling this way and who better to learn how to kill than Villanelle? 

Nobody. This is where she belonged and what she should be doing and who she should be doing it with---and to. 

Eve smiled again and smacked Villanelle’s pale ass to get her to hold still. Then she dropped to her knees behind her, parted her ass cheeks, leaned in and breathed deeply. 

It smelled like sugar. And tasted just as sweet. 

  
  
  
  
  


**end.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks. Thanks for reading, dropping kudos and writing comments. Special thanks to my sista from a different mista, **V for Villanelle** for her insights, editorial suggestions, swift kicks in the butt, and all-around awesomeness. She is the best and I can't wait until she starts writing again.
> 
> Going to work on what I hope will be the best thing I've done. If it is, you'll see it in a few months. If it's not, you won't see it until it is. Go read some of the other great fics on Ao3 and hold on for _Killing Eve_ Season 4.


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